by Anne Morice
‘And there’s still the photographs and all that lark, so plenty of time. Hope they get one of the old lady while they’re at it. Looks a treat, doesn’t she?’ he asked, pointing with pride to the white satin streamers and rosettes which adorned the bonnet of his car.
‘Yes, dreamy; but listen, Owen, there’s something I want to ask you. It’s about that hit-and-run accident you got mixed up in yesterday.’
‘Oh yes?’ he asked in a distant voice, clearly proclaiming that I had chosen an unsuitable moment to raise the topic. I agreed with him there, but I also knew that it might be my only chance, so I said:
‘It’s just a small thing, but I wanted to be sure that the story you told me over the telephone was exactly the same as you gave the police.’
‘Any reason why it shouldn’t have been?’ he asked truculently.
‘No, none at all, except that on the second time round, when you were talking to me, you might have left something out, either because you forgot, or because you were afraid it would worry me.’
Owen lit a fresh cigarette, cupping his hand round the flame to shield it from an imaginary breeze.
‘Not that I know of. What’s the game then? Did they come round to you, asking what I’d said?’
‘No, this is just a personal enquiry.’
‘You must be crackers! What could be personal about a thing like that?’
‘To put it bluntly, it occurred to me that you could have noticed something about the accident which you didn’t like to mention, in case it involved someone I knew. Those cars that passed you at the top of the hill, for instance? You didn’t recognise one of them, did you?’
‘No, I did not. I’d have spoken out like a shot if I had, wouldn’t I? Catch me protecting someone who might have done a thing like that! You know the trouble with you, don’t you? You’ve got crime on the brain. If some old woman tripped on the stairs and broke her neck, you’d have us all running round in circles while you tried to make out it was murder.’
‘You could be right, but I’m not inventing complications this time. You see, I was talking to Mrs Lewis on the way here. The police want to see her and get a statement and she definitely gave me the impression that she had something important to tell them. I wondered if you had any idea what it could be?’
‘No, I haven’t and if that’s all that’s worrying you I should forget it. She was having you on, that’s what. I mean, it stands to reason, doesn’t it? Everything happened just like I said and she couldn’t tell them any more than I could, if as much. You don’t want to pay too much attention to that one. I know she’s Miss Ellen’s mother and I shouldn’t speak against her, but if you ask me she’s a real troublemaker. Say anything for devilment or to make herself the centre of attraction, wouldn’t she? Watch it now, they’re coming out, I do believe!’ The bells were pealing again, the church door had opened and the photographers were moving up into position. Owen stubbed out his cigarette and I walked back to take my place in the latest fodder for the family album, only partially reassured by what I had heard. Owen’s assessment of Irene’s character and disposition might be dead on the mark, but he had overlooked one vital detail which undermined every assumption he had made.
3
‘Come on!’ Toby said, when the bride’s procession had driven off, followed a few seconds later by the grey Rolls. ‘You and Robin come with me.’
‘How about Irene?’
‘Simon’s taking care of her. We may as well profit by it, so long as we’re stuck with him.’
‘Oh, very well, but you and Robin had better go ahead and I’ll bring the Mercedes. Owing to one thing and another, I was the last to arrive and I’m parked several fields away.’
‘All the better!’
‘No, it isn’t. You’re supposed to be in line to receive us when we arrive.’
‘Thank you very much,’ Toby said grimly. ‘I’d rather be dead.’
It was useless to argue with him when he was in this mood and we finally compromised with my driving him to the reception in our car, which had been directed to a very advantageous position by the village constable, while Robin gallantly trudged off to retrieve the Mercedes.
‘Ellen didn’t seem too badly put out by that ridiculous fraças,’ I remarked as we took our place in the caterpillar of cars crawling back to the common.
‘No, fortunately it would take more than that to ruffle those steely nerves. Who was responsible, do you know?’
‘Desmond, of course. Who else?’
‘Drunk?’
‘I’m not sure about that. I saw him as I came in and he certainly looked ill, but it might have been pure hangover.’
‘And how did those forceful young men dispose of him?’
‘I didn’t ask. It was stupid of me, I suppose, but I don’t expect he put up much resistance once he was off stage. Desmond always prefers to conduct his private affairs in public and he probably made straight for the nearest pub, to air a few more grievances. Let’s just hope he stays there until he passes out. Do you think we should stop off at the Bricklayers’ and check up?’
‘On the whole, I’d rather not. It would only lead to unpleasantness if we found him there, and we might become even more unnerved if he were not.’
‘You prefer to remain in suspense?’
‘Every time, and besides, if he should feel the urge to give us another little cameo performance at the reception I have implicit confidence in Robin to make short work of him. Unlike some, I never cease to be thankful that we have a policeman in the family.’
‘And I suppose we might offer a vote of thanks to Jeremy for the fact that we don’t have Desmond in the family?’ I suggested, seeing the matter in this light for the first time and deriving some comfort from it.
‘Oh, indeed! Although let us hope we shall find some more positive qualities to love and admire, as time goes by.’
‘On the whole, I’d have preferred her to marry Simon, rather than Jeremy.’
‘What a pity you didn’t say so before,’ Toby replied. ‘Although personally I can’t see that it would have made much difference to you and me, since they have both been cursed with the same parents.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
1
I awarded Toby full marks for his foresight in refusing to take part in the reception line-up, for there was something ludicrous as well as inappropriate in this pompous prelude to a party for a hundred or so people, all of them relations or close friends, in a modest country garden. Unfortunately his absence had only served to increase the absurdity, for it had left Arnold Roxburgh on his own between the pink finery of Irene and the turquoise blue finery of Stella and, with his grey tail coat practically sweeping the grass, he looked like a little overfed, top-hatted pouter pigeon, preening himself on his two gorgeous mates.
We were among the last to arrive and when the M.C. had bellowed out his announcement of ‘Mr and Mrs Crichton, er, beg pardon, Mr and Mrs Price’, Ellen took it as a signal that the formalities were over and stepped out of line to be the first to greet us. After a nervous glance at his mother, Jeremy followed suit and the four of us formed into pairs and made our way towards the depths of the marquee.
‘There’s masses to eat,’ Ellen said, taking my arm. ‘That’s one thing I did insist on, so mind you set a good example! There’s nothing so brutal as expecting people to hang around for hours, drinking warm champagne on empty stomachs. And another brutal thing we mean to cut out is speeches. Simon has promised to keep his own down to four sentences and then Jeremy will thank everyone for coming and that’ll be it.’
‘It’s not warm yet,’ I assured her, having seized a glass from one of the battalion of waiters who were moving around with trays. ‘In fact, it’s beautifully cold.’
‘Well, that can’t last long, can it? Don’t you find it stifling in here? Let’s go out and take a turn in the garden.’
Some tables and chairs had been set out on the back lawn, where two more waiters were circulating with loaded trays and
several of the guests had already found their way there. Ellen and I made the rounds, stopping at each table for a few gracious words and coming last of all to Jez, who was with a lively and colourful-looking group of younger guests, one of them dressed as a pantomime highwayman and another wearing a white sola topi. Caspar was seated on the grass nearby, a dish of nuts in front of him, and was busily transferring them, one by one and left and right, into two champagne glasses.
‘I can’t tell you why he does it,’ Jez admitted. ‘He’s going through a cagey period at the moment. Perhaps he’s laid bets with himself as to which glass will be filled up first, or it may be all part of the revolt against the accepted pattern of things. Yesterday he set himself to turning every book in the flat on its side. We were both quite worn out by the end of it. Of course he’s a Gemini, you know, which makes everything even more obscure.’
‘Like Desmond,’ the highwayman remarked to no one in particular.
‘Oh no, Desmond is Taurus, unmistakably so.’
Someone else said, ‘I must say, Ellen, you took that fraças with marvellous cool, didn’t you, love?’
‘Naturally she would,’ Jez said, tilting her head back and smiling up at Ellen, who was standing behind her. ‘It’s no more than we expect from our Virgos.’
‘What’s Jeremy’s sign, by the way?’ I asked.
‘Oh Scorpio, of course. Wouldn’t you know? Highly complicated characters, as a rule. To all but the Virgos,’ Jez added with another lazy smile.
‘I must go and find him,’ Ellen said, smiling back. ‘This is the last party ever where we’ll be expected to stick together, so it would be a pity to waste it. Did you bring my address book, Jez?’
‘Yes, it’s indoors. I left it in the hall as we came by.’
‘I was going to ask you about that scene in church,’ I remarked as we re-traced our steps, ‘but you both seemed to take it so calmly that I wondered afterwards if either of you had really understood what was going on.’
‘We did and we didn’t, if you know what I mean? I think we both thought we were going mad for a moment, but then it was over before we’d properly taken it in. Simon filled us in with the details when we got to the vestry. It’s lucky Robert and Edward are such experienced rugby tacklers.’
‘And how did they dispose of Desmond?’
‘Oh, got one of the drivers to take him down to Stadhampton. Apparently he came by train and was quite happy to go back the same way.’
I was both surprised and vaguely disturbed to hear this, for Desmond enjoyed nothing better than swooping down the M4 with one finger on the wheel pretending to be Jackie Stewart. However, there was always the possibility that his licence had been suspended again and in any case there was no point in shifting my worries on to Ellen, who then went on:
‘Apparently there was no problem at all because he caved in at once when he found he was outnumbered and became as putty in their hands. Poor old Desmond! I blame myself, in a way.’
‘You would, of course, but may one ask why?’
‘Oh, because he wrote me a stupid letter, saying he was going to kill himself and God knows what, if I insisted on marrying Jeremy. I ought to have taken it more seriously, I suppose, but you remember how he was always threatening to kill himself or anybody else who happened to be annoying him. It didn’t mean a thing. What mostly happens is that he has another drink or his agent sends him a play with a good part in it and all his persecution manias go flying out of the window. It’s a shame really, because he’s so lovely when things are going right for him, and such a drag when they’re not.’
‘Managements should be more alive to the problem.’
‘You’re so right, Tessa. Can’t you use your influence? Oh look, there’s poor Jeremy stuck with one of the Aunt Ednas! I must go and rescue him.’
2
Setting a good example, I bore down on the buffet table, which was L-shaped and ran half way across the back and down the whole of one length of the marquee. Opposite its longer side there were more sets of tables and chairs for the weaker vessels and, between these and directly under the highest point of the canopied roof, was a small, rectangular table, flanked at each end by a huge white urn of flowers. One half of this table was covered by ice buckets filled with champagne, the other being reserved for the yellow and white tiered wedding cake, which had been created by the pastry chef of Chey Bert.
There were several people hovering near the buffet table and I disposed of the more timid of these, with the help of the waiter in charge, by doling out helpings of cold roast duck and lobster mousse and by recommending them to move on down the line and pick up their own salad and wine. This left me standing midway between two more firmly entrenched groups, of whom the pair on my right, pressed up against the bar section, were two of Aunt Edna’s male counterparts and had obviously been glued to the spot from the moment of their arrival. Giving them my full attention, I was rewarded by the following glimpse into other lives:
‘’Straordinary thing about that Croker boy! You see him?’
‘No, can’t say I did.’
‘Unbelievable. Can’t be more than fifteen, so Mary tells me. Grown a beard!’
‘How ’straordinary!’
‘Sprouting out all over him. Makes him look about forty.’
‘Would do.’
‘Extraordinary. When you think, I mean.’
This was not very fertile ground for eavesdropping, so I switched my attention to the left, where Irene was talking to that usher whom I now knew to be either Robert or Edward. Rather predictably, she was telling him all about her horrid experience on the drive from the airport and presumably the story was getting its third or fourth airing, since the grisly details had been hotted up to steaming pitch and her own part in it had developed into something positively saintly. Even so, it cannot have made compulsive listening, because Robert or Edward, who had been fidgeting quite overtly during its recital, took the first opportunity to cut in by saying: ‘How absolutely rotten for you! What an awful shame! Oh, I say, your glass is empty! Do let me get you a refill?’
‘How terribly sweet of you! Just a teeny one would be lovely. But not champagne, you know. It always makes me feel most frightfully ill.’
‘I say, how rotten! What’s it to be, then?’
‘Just a teeny scotch and soda.’
‘In a champagne glass?’
‘It’s the only kind they provide. I ask you!’
‘Still, tastes just as good, I expect,’ Robert or Edward said, picking up her glass and moving off with some speed. Irene called after him:
‘Only a very, very weak one, remember, darling! I’ve got to say my piece to that cross-looking policeman later on and I must be awfully, awfully sober when I give him my statement.’
Fearful that she might now turn to me, for want of a more sympathetic audience, I too drifted away, carrying yet another piled-up plate. I had a vague idea of finding someone hungry enough to take it off me and, if that should be Phil, of introducing him to some of the younger elements, since it was unlikely that he had met any of them, or would have the initiative to take on this service for himself.
I did not find him, but eventually came across Alison, who was standing near the front opening and supporting herself against one of the posts. Her face was moist and streaked with orange powder and her whole bearing suggested a state of extreme mental and physical suffering.
‘Whatever’s the matter, Alison?’
‘I’m in agony, if you want to know,’ she muttered. ‘These shoes are torture. I was a fool to put them on. As though any of this lot would notice or care what I was wearing!’
I looked down and was distressed to see that her feet had blown up like rubber tyres and that the rims of the high-heeled black kid shoes were biting into the swollen flesh.
‘Why on earth don’t you sit down? There are plenty of chairs over there.’
‘I know, but I tried that and it was worse than ever. All I could think of was kic
king them off and I knew if I did that I’d never get the blasted things on again. Besides, I’m watching out for Phil.’
‘Have you lost him?’
‘Looks suspiciously like it. Stalwart lad that he is, he nipped off home to fetch my everyday pair. Shouldn’t have taken him more than five or six minutes, but he’s been gone a good sight longer than that.’
‘Oh, crumbs! So you think he might have . . . ?’
‘Lost his nerve and chickened out? It’s beginning to look like it. Not that he’d let me down deliberately, I know that, but then it’s always a bit of a joke when women complain that their feet are killing them, so perhaps he didn’t take it seriously.’
‘And I can see it is serious,’ I said. ‘So here’s what to do. Take this plate and go and sit at one of the tables. Then get your shoes off and relax until I get back.’
‘What are you going to do? You won’t find a pair of your own or Ellen’s that I could squeeze into.’
‘No, but I’ll ring your house and find out what Phil’s up to. If I can’t persuade him to come back I’ll go and fetch your shoes myself, or I’ll rout out a pair of mules to see you through for the time being. Anyway, don’t worry and don’t prolong the agony. You’ll turn gangrenous and have to have your legs amputated if you stand here much longer.’
I darted away, without waiting for her thanks, which I did not think would be forthcoming in any case.
A yew hedge separated the front lawn from the common and I took time out to sprint up to it and look over the top. There were at least forty cars parked on the other side, but, so far as I could see, not a single Mini among them. Nor was there any sign of Phil’s approach along the track, although just for a second I was tricked into thinking I saw him leaning into one of the cars and talking to someone inside it. A pale-coloured jacket had caught my eye, but a moment later the man wearing it withdrew his head and stood upright, and I saw that it was not cream-coloured but pure white and that the wearer was one of the waiters. I could find no explanation for his being there, beyond a compulsive need to learn the result of the three o’clock at Doncaster from one of the chauffeurs, but there were more urgent problems requiring my attention and, having given the horizon a final scan, I turned my back on the scene and hurried into the house.