Death in Patent Leather (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 7)
Page 3
‘So if we arrive at three-thirty?’ asked Felix.
Welby grinned. ‘About right, I should think. He’ll be under pressure to answer before she gets home.’
‘Do you know everyone in the village this well?’
‘Can’t be off of it, sir. There’s only six hundred of us. Gets a bit awkward sometimes. Glad it’s you doing it, to be honest.’
The Jacksons’ home was a neat and well maintained property, rather too large to call a cottage, though it retained a chocolate-box appeal. Their interviewee didn’t seem overjoyed to see them.
‘We won’t keep you any longer than we can help, Mr Jackson,’ said Felix, ‘but you understand that given the child’s age . . .’
‘Yes, of course, Chief Inspector,’ said Jackson, glancing at the clock. ‘How may I help?’
‘Can I first confirm that the missing valuables were insured?’
‘Yes they were. I told the other fellow that.’
‘Got the documents, have you?’
‘Er, yes, they’re in my study.’
‘Might we have a look at them?’
‘Why yes, but I don’t see . . .’
‘If you would be so kind.’
While they waited, they wandered the room. A middle-aged couple might be expected to own some older items – furniture particularly – but all was relatively new and of the best quality. There appeared to be no attempt to economise, despite the county court orders.
‘Easy to see what happened here,’ said Rattigan cynically.
‘These are they, Chief Inspector,’ said Jackson, returning with a sheaf of papers. ‘I believe you will find them all correct.’
‘Taken out two months ago, I see.’
‘Renewed, yes. My wife worried about her jewellery. It was her mother’s and had sentimental value. I didn’t wish it to be under-insured. Has any of it been recovered at all?’
‘Not my department I’m afraid, sir. Have they paid out yet?’
‘No, they haven’t. They seem to be dragging their feet rather.’
‘Well they have to do their own checks on these things. Fraud, you know. One trick people pull, and it’s very foolish, is to have someone steal their valuables to order. We’ve seen a lot of that recently. They get the loot, with little risk of discovery, and the householder gets his insurance money. Then the blackmail starts. Just a few pounds to start with, to test the water, so to say. Then more and more. You can see, I’m sure, why we have to be so careful. Mr Jackson, are you all right? You look unwell.’
But Mr Jackson was not all right. He had sat down hard on a chair and put his head in his hands.
‘She always wanted everything nice,’ he said, not looking up, ‘and business has been terrible. I felt I’d let her down. It’s not my fault, surely, that the child died? I didn’t even know how they intended to get in here. No-one was more shocked than I. What will happen to me?’
‘I can only say, Mr Jackson, that the more you cooperate with us the better it will be for you. How much have you paid them so far?’
‘Twenty pounds. I had to borrow it.’
‘And how did you find them in the first place?’
‘I got talking to a man at my local. A Major somebody. I don’t recall his name. He told me no-one suffered but the insurance company and they could afford it. I didn’t see it that way but I was desperate.’
‘Thank you, Mr Jackson, for being so honest with us. I must ask you to go with Sergeant Welby now.’
‘Go? But my wife —’
‘You may wish to gather a few things together, sir.’ said Welby kindly. ‘Toothbrush and so on.’
‘Not a bad man I doubt,’ said Felix as they drove away, ‘just a foolish one. It’s disturbing to think there are people offering such a service, and you’d never normally know. Now to find this fellow in the pub. Not that I hold much hope of it.’
‘Quite an epidemic,’ said Rattigan. ‘What’s that, the sixth? And I’ve heard of others. Lucky we checked your major’s credentials.’
‘The world is full of majors,’ said Felix. ‘Some are even real ones. This won’t be easy.’
Chapter Five
June 1928
‘But we don’t even know the Cottons do we?’ frowned Felix.
‘I should hardly think so,’ laughed Connie. ‘He’s the Cotton of Cotton’s bank and as rich as Croesus. It’s at Lady Cottons’s invitation on behalf of their daughter Betty, and it’s actually to Sybil and Sonia. They were asked to bring someone interesting and they nominated us. I can’t think why, can you? I expect they’re trying to marry her off. Maurice said she came out last year but there were no takers. He’s her couturier and seems to be taking it rather personally.’
‘You’re too modest, my dear,’ smiled Felix. ‘You’d be an ornament to any ball, and they get a policeman thrown in. What do we know about Betty?’
‘What do we know about her! Honestly, darling! You act about a hundred and fifty years old sometimes. She’s literally everywhere. Look, here she is in Tatler. Left-hand page.’
‘“Miss Betty Cotton, dining with the Hon. Patricia Wyatt and Lady Carlisle at the Criterion.”’ read Felix. ‘Oh, she’s that one — face like a Persian cat. Not surprised there were no takers.’
Connie looked critically at the magazine feature, her head on one side. ‘Hmm, I see what you mean. Maybe she doesn’t photograph very well. Anyway it’ll be fun, and we haven’t danced for absolutely ages. Can we go?’
‘I don’t see why not. White-tie?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then I’ll need my topper. Any idea of the state of it?’
‘I don’t think I’ve looked since the wedding. You’ll be taking it off once you’re inside, anyway.’
◆◆◆
Once the London home of the Dukes of Bradstock, Burton House had recently passed to the Cotton family. Built in a more opulent age, its elegant facade and grand entrance proclaimed power and privilege while much of its interior was given over to conspicuous entertaining, the great banqueting hall and ballroom being largely unchanged in a hundred and fifty years. Above them could be found the family’s more modern apartments, including that of Nigel Cotton, presently taking a telephone call.
‘Bailey,’ he said, ‘you know I can’t do that. The terms were quite clear and you have broken them. I must ask you to repay what you owe immediately . . . Well that’s hardly my problem, is it? . . . No, I can’t . . . Oh, I see. All right, you had best come and see me . . . No, not tonight, we’re holding a party here, which I shall be attending . . . No, that’s quite impossible. Ring me at the bank.’
Come tonight indeed! Replacing the receiver he hurried to finish dressing, eager to peruse the latest crop of young women. Also, she would be there.
Paying off the taxi they paused for a moment in the cool of the evening before running the gauntlet of the rubbernecks and photographers at the building’s entrance. It was the ball of the season and the newspapers and magazines would be making much of it.
‘Hello,’ said Felix, ‘look at this!’
Between the queues of limousines waiting to disembark their passengers threaded a noisy motorcycle and sidecar, newly washed and polished to display Lady Ickborne’s blue and gold livery and coat of arms. Aided by Harry Saunders, resplendent in his matching uniform, the Countess rose gracefully from the passenger seat, handed him her flying helmet and goggles, adjusted her tippet, and to the accompaniment of much clapping, and some laughter, went inside.
‘That’s what I call sangfroid,’ said Connie. ‘But where is Sonia?’
She hadn’t long to wait, for moments later she and Tony Swindon arrived in a rakish racing-green Frazer Nash. Tossing his keys to a waiting attendant, Tony strolled indoors as if to the manner born, with Sonia on his arm.
‘Lefevre?’ asked Felix, pointing to her very strik
ing gown.
‘Yes, it is. He gets everywhere doesn’t he?’
‘How on earth can she afford it?’
‘Sybil, I expect.’
‘Briefly stopping to acknowledge the applause, the two young people were certainly getting their share of attention, suggesting they were better-known than the Felixes had imagined.
‘What’s this, then?’ said a voice. ‘Are they letting in any old riff-raff tonight?’
‘Hugo! how nice to see you,’ chuckled Felix. ‘I shouldn’t have thought this was your cup of tea. Hello, Maudie. Is this your doing?’
Lord and Lady Conway were the parents of a friend who had died in the war. They were, apart from Sylvia, the only members of the nobility whom Felix knew socially.
‘Kitty Cotton is a pal of mine so we thought we should make the effort,’ explained Maud. She nodded towards her husband. ‘He’ll probably just disappear into the smoking room. Connie, you look divine, doesn’t she Hugo? I love the flounce on the train. Is that what’s coming in?’
They joined the gaily chattering throng waiting to enter the house, a phalanx of importunate reporters and a welter of flashbulbs causing them to be relieved to get inside.
‘You’ll be in all the papers tomorrow, Connie,’ said Hugo. ‘Rely upon it.’
Entering the ballroom, they stopped to look about them. It was certainly impressive, with a broad staircase rising to an encircling gallery in red and gold, supported on marble columns. Tables and chairs were ranged beneath, with waiters and waitresses standing ready to serve, while on a low stage the band was warming up with a quickstep. People were already dancing.
‘Come on, while it’s not crowded,’ said Connie. ‘We’re probably terribly rusty.’
They weren’t, but they agreed it felt strange. They were no longer fancy free but the slaves of a demanding little tyrant who kept them awake at night, refused to be weaned and leaked relentlessly from every orifice.
‘I feel like an ocean liner among tugs,’ complained Connie. ‘Stately.’
‘Darling, you are twenty-four!’
‘Yes, but most of this lot are about five years younger, and so skinny!’
‘Then we must show them how it’s done. Ah! A tango.’
Searching for a table they found the Countess, Sonia and Tony.
‘Come and join us,’ commanded Sybil. ‘How’s the brat?’
They had dined a couple of times at Sybil and Sonia’s London flat, and the newly christened Abigail had been presented to them there. They had wanted Sonia to be a godmother but she had demurred. ‘I’m a wicked woman,’ she had said. ‘Not suitable at all.’
‘I never did think you were a horse breeder,’ accused Tony, who hadn’t been present.
‘It wasn’t quite a lie,’ said Connie. ‘He’d like to be, wouldn’t you darling? And the family does breed them, in a small way.’
The Countess laughed — a deep, masculine chuckle. 'They must have wondered where the devil they’d found themselves, surrounded by a bunch of scruffy builders and a pickpocket.’
‘Where did you find Harry?’ asked Connie curiously.
‘The little beggar tried to pinch my bag. After I’d knocked him down I told him he could go to prison or come and work for me. All they need is a job and a bit of discipline. They miss it, you know. Waiter! What’s everyone having?’
The band and its two singers were excellent and time passed quickly, the great room lively with Betty Cotton’s friends and a legion of eager young men. A sprinkling of chaperones was still to be seen, an echo of earlier times, but the principle of in loco parentis seemed to be honoured more in the breach than the observance. The Conways came by and were introduced.
‘But we know each other,’ laughed Maud. ‘Hello Sybil. Where is Sonia?’
‘Dancing with Nigel Cotton,’ said the Countess, pulling a face.
‘Oh dear. Has she been warned?’
‘Yes, but she felt obliged.’
‘Bit of a Lothario, is he?’ asked Felix.
‘He has a certain reputation.’
‘Shush! They’re coming back.’
But Nigel returned Sonia politely to her table, kissed her hand and slipped away.
‘He seems all right,’ she shrugged.
‘Did he attempt a seduction?’ asked Tony curiously.
‘He seemed rather in awe of me, if anything. I think I’ve made a hit though. He asked for another dance later.’
‘One will be quite enough,’ said the Countess firmly.
Sonia giggled.
They rose to greet the rest of the family, presently doing their round of the guests. White-haired but still striking in her sixties, Kitty Cotton was inches taller than her aloof-seeming husband, while Betty looked almost pretty in her pink Lefevre gown. Connie handed her their party gift. ‘Why, that’s lovely!’ she said, though she must have had a dozen the same.
‘How comforting it is to have a policeman in our midst,’ said Lady Cotton.
‘Let us hope we have no need of you tonight, Chief Inspector,’ said Sir Blaine, his only contribution to the conversation.
Betty turned to Sonia and Tony. ‘When are you going to do it? I can scarcely wait!’
Tony glanced at his watch, then questioningly at Sonia. ‘Give us ten minutes,’ he said.
Connie watched them slip away. ‘What are they going to do?’ she asked. ‘Are they performing tonight?’
‘Wait and see,’ smiled the Countess.
Soon afterwards, the music stopped and the band-leader stepped forward. ‘My Lords, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, ‘we now have a little treat for you. Clear the floor please for — the Dancing Crescendos!’ The band immediately struck up a Charleston and turning they saw Tony and Sonia – now in her daringly exiguous silver-sequined dress – run downstairs hand in hand to fairly explode into their midst. At first they stuck to the conventional steps but swiftly began to embroider upon them until they became almost a blur of syncopated movement with everyone clapping along. Tony removed his coat and threw it to a delighted Betty, and they began to introduce elements of other dances into their routine, even tap. Their youthful audience, crowding towards them, went wild.
‘Look at them go!’ cried Connie. ‘They’re amazing!’ There was something else, she thought — more, surely, than mere professionalism, a chemistry between them that she hadn’t noticed before. It seemed impossible that they could keep time, either with the band’s ever changing tempo or each other, but they never missed a beat during the long routine until, to the accompaniment of thunderous applause, they again took hands, bounded from the floor and scampered back upstairs.
‘My goodness but he does throw her about,’ said Maud. ‘It’s a wonder she knows which way is up.’
‘So that’s who they are,’ said Felix, for he now realised their advertising posters were everywhere, including opposite his own office. He turned to speak to Sybil but she, too, had gone.
‘Ah! A waltz,’ said Hugo, with slight relief. ‘Connie, will you do an old man the honour?’
‘I thought you’d never ask,’ smiled Connie.
‘Felix and Maud joined them on the floor. ‘Will you look at that?’ said Maud. ‘My husband, who usually refuses all blandishments, dancing with a young woman. Quite the miracle.’
‘She has the same effect on my father,’ said Felix. ‘And me, come to that.’
‘She’s a sweet girl. And it’s lovely to see you two so happy.’
Felix indicated with a wry nod their now empty table. ‘Talking of which . . .’
‘You noticed too, did you?’ said Maud. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if there’s trouble there.’
They danced until the band struck up a turkey trot.
‘What do you think?’ said Felix. ‘Do we relive your wild youth?’
‘The spirit is w
illing but the flesh, alas, is not,’ said Maud sadly. ‘I think I’ll leave it to the Dancing Crescendos, if you don’t mind.’
Joined by Hugo and Connie they made their way back to their table to find that the entertainers and Sybil had also returned and were sitting in uncharacteristic silence, sunk, it seemed, in their own thoughts. Looks as though we were right, Felix thought.
‘You were absolutely topping! Weren’t they, darling?’ said Connie. ‘I’m lost in admiration.’
‘Thank you,’ said Tony with a tight little smile.
‘They danced their socks off tonight, didn’t you?’ said the Countess, making an effort.
‘I’m a bit tired actually,’ said Sonia, who looked close to tears.
‘Time for little girls to be in their beds,’ agreed Tony. The Countess scowled at him.
‘I’m quite tired too,’ admitted Connie, ‘and we’ll have to get back soon for the babysitter.’
‘I’ll order a taxi,’ said Felix.
‘It’s all right,’ said Hugo. ‘We’ll drop you off.’
‘Do you think they’d had a row?’ said Connie, as the Conways’ man, Pilbeam, drove them through the empty streets.
‘I shouldn’t be surprised,’ said Maud. ‘I don’t suppose Sybil sees their routine normally. It might have been a shock.’
‘Almost erotic,’ agreed Hugo from the front seat.
‘What do you know about erotic?’ said Maud.
Chapter Six
At seven o’clock the next morning the telephone rang.
‘It’s Polly,’ said Connie, who was already up with the baby.
Felix groaned. His head was thumping and his mouth tasted like a mouse had died in it. ‘What day is it?’
‘Sunday. Drink this before it settles.’
Sipping his fizzing liver salts he plodded in his pyjamas to the telephone. ‘Good morning, sir.’
‘Morning Felix. Enjoy your night with the nobs?’
‘Very pleasant, sir, thank you.’
‘Well I’m glad of that because you’re going back there. There’s been a murder, a Mr Nigel Cotton. Know him?’