‘But Polly vamps anything in uniform; and besides I doubt if she would get far with MacManus, he’s far too stolid.’
‘Ah, but I think she has!’ Melinda cried with glee.
I asked her what she meant and she explained that at the end of the dinner MacManus had sent his wife home in a taxi saying that he had urgent reports to attend to at the station which couldn’t wait till morning; and that the moment she was safely installed in the taxi he had turned to Polly and suggested he give her a lift home as it was on his way – an offer which was readily accepted.
‘But I thought Polly was with you,’ I said. ‘Weren’t you and Freddie going to drop her off?’
‘Oh that was the plan all right, but she babbled something about it taking us well out of our way and it being much quicker with MacManus. The next moment she had gone racing across the car park, skirts up to her knees and making a beeline for his car. I ask you! But the silly girl had to hang about on the tarmac looking an idiot, because at that moment one of the hotel staff appeared and said that MacManus was wanted on the telephone. Rather embarrassing I should think. Just shows, more haste, less speed.’
‘So what did Freddie say?’ I asked with interest.
‘“Thank God for that. Now we can get home pronto and have a nightcap.”’
‘But wasn’t he puzzled by the sudden flight?’
‘Freddie? No. Fortunately few things puzzle him … unlike yours truly.’ She gave a dark chortle. ‘Anyway, my dear, I must fly. But do come over for some more bridge – though I think this time you ought to stay the night: after all one never knows what might be encountered on the downs these days!’
I returned to my car in a state of some amusement. Admittedly Melinda was the most inveterate of gossips but in this case she might just be on to something for once. When Polly Fox-Findley had the bit between her teeth few things were known to stop her, let alone the complaisant Lance. Perhaps she viewed MacManus as a sort of challenge, though frankly I shouldn’t have thought it worth the effort. Still, I mused, no accounting for tastes, especially those of the Fox-Findley kind.
And then I stopped short, staring at the clouds above the church spire. Oh my giddy aunt … in his dress uniform and a couple of nights ago? That would surely have been the night when he had accosted me near Topping’s house. Had he been alone in that car or had there been some covert lover there – Mrs F.-F. shrouded under a rug in the back seat, resplendent in her Stiebel dress? Would that account for his skulking movements? Checking if the coast was clear before … well anything you care to mention, I suppose. Disgraceful!
I have to admit that I found Melinda’s speculations so engrossing that the issue of Hubert Topping rather slipped from my mind. However, after lunch I collected my thoughts, and forgoing the crossword turned back to the crucial question: what had he been doing and with whom on that Wednesday night travelling the Newhaven road? Had they collected the onus, the ‘stuff’ as Ingaza had termed it – and if so, what had they done with it? Was it taken back to Topping’s place much later that night or stowed somewhere else? It irked me to think that had it not been for the intrusive MacManus and his amatory nonsense I might have been able to wait long enough to see Topping return to the cottage and thus get some inkling of his activity. As it was, I remained clueless. Hell!
A genuine ally would have been handy, a confidant with whom I could chew things over. Alas, Francis was no more (though I am not entirely sure his views would have been helpful; always a ditherer). Charles, of course, is sound but seemed to be unduly indulgent of Topping. I mean to say, did he really need to be quite so amenable to his cocksure advice the previous night? ‘Mark my words,’ T. had insisted, ‘leave the stable renovation and get on with the west wing; it’s the obvious route.’ Huh! Obvious to Topping maybe but not necessarily to anyone else. But Charles had seemed quite impressed and besides which there was the liability of Agnes. Much as I like her, discretion is not her strong suit. Emily? Well, not the brightest spark in the box except where timetables and wayward parents are concerned. Melinda, of course, is a good egg but as mad as a coot – and there is always the Freddie problem … which left only one possibility. Nicholas Ingaza.
Certainly Nicholas has the brains, and, unlike Charles, nobody could accuse him of being even-handed, but did I really need to involve him more than necessary? After all, despite the tears at the funeral he didn’t exactly ease Francis’s plight! … I lit a cigarette and brooded. A risk? Quite possibly. But better the devil you knew (more or less) than the devil of that unctuous little Latin-spouting toad. I was determined to expose him; and if that meant further engagement with Ingaza then so be it.
Thus decided, I marched to the telephone and dialled the Brighton number, keeping fingers crossed that it wasn’t Eric who answered; I was in no mood for thunderous jollity.
‘Hello,’ the nasal voice said cautiously, ‘I thought you weren’t going to phone until Ted had wrapped up the deal. I take it there’s no hitch because if so—’
‘No, Nicholas,’ I said, ‘there is no hitch and neither am I Ted nor any other of your dubious contacts. This is Primrose Oughterard speaking.’
‘Well what do you know,’ he replied silkily, ‘found another head, have we?’
‘Don’t be absurd. But, as it happens, I would appreciate your views on one or two small matters – not unconnected if you see what I mean. Should an empty slot appear in your busy schedule I would be most obliged.’
‘Always time for you, dear girl,’ was the smooth response. ‘Six-thirty tomorrow at the Masons’ Arms? I have to be over in your neck of the woods later in the evening so that would be fine.’ He paused and then added, ‘Do I take it we shall have the pleasure of Bouncer’s company? Because if so I must come suitably clad. The last time we met he thoughtfully smeared my jacket with some bone residue. Rather difficult to remove I recall.’
‘In that case, you’d better be a wise boy scout and come prepared. Bring a mackintosh.’
I was about to ring off when he said, ‘Oh by the way, I saw your little friend the other day.’
‘Do you mean Topping? Where? Footling around on his bicycle, I suppose.’
‘I didn’t see any bicycle. He was with another chap, footling about on the Newhaven quay. I couldn’t quite make out—’
‘On the quay!’ I exploded.
‘Good lord, Primrose, you’ll bust the line or my eardrums! Now if you don’t mind I’ve got some urgent business to attend to. Toodle-oo.’ The line went dead, leaving me in a state of suspended triumph.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The Primrose Version
So I was right. He had been at Newhaven and down by the docks. Vindicated! I couldn’t wait to meet Ingaza the following day and press him to be more precise about their movements. He must surely have noticed something more revealing than the mere absence of a bicycle. Typical of Nicholas to be so cryptic and to clam up just when one wanted to learn more. Yes, just as I had surmised, they must have been hanging about waiting to receive the mysterious cargo, the consignment of stuff, whatever it was. Obviously it was something illicit otherwise why all the subterfuge, such as that ridiculous lie about taking prep? What was it that was being collected on those Wednesday evenings? Hardly ‘brandy for the parson’ – these days cognac is plentiful enough, and in any case, judging from the suspicious quantities of orange squash the Reverend Hollis consumes I rather imagine that gin is the preferred tipple, a commodity obtained at any off-licence. ‘Baccy for the clerk’ also seemed unlikely, our own municipal jobsworth being obsessed with the obnoxious sucking of pear drops.
I wondered who Topping’s accomplice had been. Emily hadn’t specified the gender of the driver but I think if it had been a woman she would doubtless have remarked. Yes, the other man was surely the same figure Ingaza had seen with him on the quay.
Despite my buzzing thoughts that night, I slept remarkably well and the following day I felt so full of energy that I completed my current canvas an
d started a fresh one – its foreground taken up by a shimmering but placid dew pond. Perhaps Winchbrooke would like it for his study. Other than a break to exercise the dog and feed the chinchillas I continued in my studio all day. And thus come five o’clock it was quite a relief to put down my brush and get ready for our rendezvous.
I looked at Bouncer mooching about on the terrace and wondered if I should take him but decided against it. It would be gracious to spare Ingaza’s jacket. And in any case the hound had had quite enough drama the other night with that absurd MacManus creeping all over the place. I made a mental note to direct a sly innuendo at Polly Fox-Findley the next time I faced her across the bridge table. With luck it might put her off her stride and win me a trick; one should never pass up an opportunity as Pa had constantly reminded us. The context of the opportunity was rarely defined but I think it generally had something to do with confounding the enemy – whether at a game of cards or in the game of life, a piece of advice which Nicholas would surely endorse. I hurried to the car not wanting to keep His Nibs waiting: there were important matters to discuss and I certainly didn’t want him slipping away before they were fully aired.
In my haste I reached the pub well before the allotted time. It had only just opened its doors and was in that semi-somnolent state that prevails just before the onset of homing farm workers and businessmen. This meant I could secure a cosy corner in what was ambitiously called the lounge bar – distinguished only from the public one by its hideous carpet and plastic flowers. Both rooms are dingy but the beer is good and the publican pleasant.
‘Good evening, Albert,’ I said (he won’t answer to Bert), ‘I’ll have half of Harveys’ best please, and I don’t suppose you could rustle up some cheese and pickles, could you? I have been painting all day and if I don’t have sustenance I shall faint immediately.’
He grinned and nodded. ‘Can’t have that, Miss Oughterard, bad for trade. And speaking of which, how’s yours these days – still raking it in with the old sheep and churches?’
‘Oh one hobbles along,’ I replied genially, ‘but actually I’ve just introduced something new: a water feature. It doesn’t do to get stuck in the same mould, however popular.’ My eyes swept the smoke-encrusted bar with its fake horseshoes gathering dust.
‘Ah, you mean a river? Which is it – the Ouse or the Cuckmere? I bet it’s the Cuckmere: artists like all those meanders. Or do I mean ox-bows?’
‘It is not a river, it’s a pond. A downland pond.’
Albert gave a low whistle. ‘Well, now that is inspired! I suppose it includes the headless stiff; that’s bound to pull in the punters.’ He gave a sepulchral chuckle and lumbered off to fetch the cheese and pickles.
I took my beer to the table and picked up the evening paper. No news of the murder except a couple of lines to say the police had matters in hand and that the chief superintendent was expecting a speedy resolution … Huh, I thought, most likely the only thing that MacManus has in hand is Polly Fox-Findley. As to the speedy resolution, it would rather depend on how soon her husband returned from his business trip.
So absorbed was I by the image of weedy Lance squaring up to his strapping rival that I did not at first see Ingaza. He had slipped through the door unnoticed and like a thin shadow had settled himself opposite. He flashed a brilliantined smile. ‘My drink on order, is it?’
‘Not really,’ I replied, ‘didn’t know what you wanted.’
He sighed theatrically. ‘Just like your brother, ever tight-fisted.’
‘I am not tight-fisted,’ I retorted, ‘merely thrifty. Why should I waste money on something you might not appreciate? And besides, Francis wasn’t tight-fisted, it was simply that his mind was frequently preoccupied.’
‘You bet it was. Trying to work out how to elude Mr Pierrepoint.’
‘Really, Nicholas, I consider that remark most uncalled for. Utterly tasteless.’
He had the grace to look contrite. ‘Yes,’ he murmured, ‘you’re right. It was rather.’ He got up abruptly and went to the bar to order a Scotch. When he returned my bread and cheese had arrived.
I pointed to the plate. ‘You may have a pickled onion,’ I said graciously.
‘How kind … Now, dear girl, tell me: what’s in the wind?’
And so I told him my suspicions, starting with my evening at Podmore and the Latin master’s sinister flash of hostility. ‘It was quite obvious, Nicholas, he was distinctly menacing. Only a few seconds admittedly, but it was the look as much as the words. It was most unpleasant! It was if he knew I had been at the dew pond and was deliberately taunting me.’
‘That’s a bit subjective, isn’t it?’
‘Things often are but that doesn’t invalidate them.’
He nodded.
I then told him about Topping inventing the tale of having to get back to the school and then shortly afterwards being seen by Emily sitting in a large car apparently en route for Newhaven. ‘And that isn’t subjective. In fact in view of what you said last night about seeing him down at the docks with another man it is the plain objective truth. Not even circumstantial. And by the way, what were you doing there – and more to the point what were they doing?’
He explained that he had been on his way to a nearby public house to support Eric in one of his darts matches, a regular contest between the Brighton Warriors and the Newhaven Newts. However, other than noticing the pair talking on the quay amid the boats and oil tankers he had seen nothing. ‘The weather was filthy and I wasn’t going to hang about; but it was him all right – a bit like a sodden weasel.’
‘There you are then,’ I said eagerly, ‘it all fits with that note you translated. He’s obviously in some racket to do with smuggled goods and using the school as his cover. And Carstairs’ death is all part of it!’
I suppose excitement made me speak louder than I meant for I saw Ingaza wince and he muttered, ‘For God’s sake, Primrose, keep your voice down, you’re not calling the odds at Epsom.’
‘But what do you think it is,’ I asked in a suitably hushed tone, ‘gun-running? Although there don’t seem to be any wars at present – unless the Irish are restive again. The venerable de Valera is still in the cock-pit you know …’
He laughed. ‘No, I think those times are over; he’s a pussy cat now. If Topping is in the receiving game it will be something simpler and smaller – drugs I shouldn’t wonder. London has become full of the stuff these days. It’s a very lucrative business … In fact, dear girl, it might be right up your street: I am told that hollow picture frames make excellent carriers.’
‘Oh very funny,’ I said. ‘Now kindly apply your mind and suggest something useful. What’s our next move?’
He looked startled. ‘Our next move? Look, I don’t wish to be a skeleton at the feast but I have no intention of getting embroiled in this unsavoury affair, and if you take my advice neither should you. I’ve told you before, little Topping can turn nasty. He wasn’t with the Messina brothers for his charm, you know.’
‘And that is precisely why I propose spiking his beastly gun,’ I retorted tartly. ‘Now, I am sure there is one thing you could do for me: check the shipping timetables and find out what boats come into harbour on Wednesday nights. At least that would be helpful.’
He took a sip of his Scotch and flicked a length of ash into the tray. ‘Actually Primrose, I am rather busy at the moment. The Sussex Art Dealers’ Convention is looming and I have a couple of rather special clients to accommodate. Things are a trifle delicate and need my fullest attention. So if you don’t mind—’
‘So I suppose you won’t,’ I said impatiently.
He sighed. ‘Just like Francis, always jumping to conclusions. What I was going to say was that I can’t but Eric can. It’s the sort of thing he likes doing: nosing around and imagining he is being crafty. He’ll be only too pleased especially when I tell him it’s for you. Probably make his day. Now, one for the road and then I must be off. Got to see a man about a dog.’ He winke
d.
I was pleased with this concession and when he returned to the table started to tell him about my vigil outside Topping’s cottage and MacManus’s tiresome intrusion. ‘And do you know what? I’ve just learnt via the grapevine that he was more than likely romancing Polly Fox-Findley on that night. She is one of our local ladies who he had given a lift to after the Rotary dinner. I suppose he chose that area because it’s secluded. Stupid idiot.’ I started to laugh.
‘I doubt it. She was at home by then.’
I stopped laughing and stared at him. ‘What do you mean? And how on earth would you know?’
‘Because I know the Fox-Findleys, professionally at any rate. They come into the gallery and Lance puts an occasional bit of business my way. She’s a fool but I don’t dislike her. Anyway, she appeared the other day effing and blinding about your new police chief. Said he had the manners of an oaf and she never wanted to see him again. Apparently she had accepted that lift, hoping they might stop for a drink en route, or something equally jolly, and instead of which he drove like the clappers, reached her house in record time and didn’t even get out to open the car door. According to her she tripped on the running board, snagged her dress, and by the time she had scrabbled for the latchkey her gallant escort had zoomed off into the night leaving her in the middle of the drive. She was none too pleased I can tell you!’ Nicholas tittered and added, ‘Just goes to show, a gal can’t always trust a uniform.’
Well, I thought as I drove back from the pub, that’s scotched that piece of gossip. How disappointed Melinda will be. Indeed I was mildly disappointed myself. It had been satisfying, risible really, to think of the starchy MacManus falling prey to Polly’s predatory glad eye. And I wondered vaguely how much it would cost to repair the stitching on the Victor Stiebel cocktail dress …
The Primrose Pursuit Page 17