Death of a Wedding Guest

by Anne Morice

  By contrast, the second member or visitor was clearly waiting for someone, for she glanced up expectantly when I opened the door, enabling me to get a good look at her in return. This was just as well, for it brought the news that she was tall and elegant in her pale suède trouser suit, had rather large hands and feet and a pile of flaxen hair rolled into a bun at the back of her head. If she happened to have come there to meet Jeremy, at least I had been forewarned.

  Marion, in person, was in charge of the bar on this occasion, although taking the substantial weight off her feet by reclining in a swivel chair which had been placed beside the till. I heaved myself on to a stool and asked for a whisky sour which, after a fair amount of lumbering about, accompanied by a sing-song of muttered curses, she eventually put together.

  ‘There you are!’ she announced, plumping a large tumblerful in front of me. ‘Make it last, please! I don’t see myself going through all that again.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I enquired. ‘Hit by the staff shortage?’

  ‘My little villain of a barman walked out on me the other night. Haven’t found a replacement yet.’

  ‘You mean Thomas? I should think you’re better off without him. A great charmer, in my opinion, but inclined to be absent-minded.’

  ‘So much so that when he decamped he absent-mindedly took the contents of the till and hasn’t so far remembered to bring them back.’

  ‘Oh crikey, Marion! I am sorry! Have you told the police?’

  ‘No, and don’t you dare breathe a word to your old man. His mother’s a darling. She was in the wardrobe at Wyndham’s for years and I’m not having her upset.’

  ‘But Thomas might go and rob someone else, if he gets away with this one,’ I said rather priggishly, having got into the way of seeing things from Robin’s point of view, specially when he was not there to express it for himself.

  ‘Can’t help their troubles,’ Marion said indifferently. ‘They must fend for themselves, like I have to. Besides, I’m not worried about Thomas. He’s got this girl friend with extravagant tastes, but he’ll come crawling back in a day or two, on his knees for another chance.’

  ‘Which you’ll give him, I suppose?’

  ‘Might do. We can’t all be perfect and barmen who know their job and can speak English aren’t all that thick on the ground. How did that drink turn out, by the way?’

  ‘Lovely, thanks. I shan’t have any trouble making it last.’

  ‘Well, if you’re thinking of lunching you’d better go and book a table. Madge has got a run on them today.’

  ‘No thanks, no time for lunch. I just dropped in to say hello. Also I thought I might find Desmond here.’ Having tossed out this remark, two things made me instantly aware of its having fallen like a stone on to a smooth patch of water, sending out ripples all around me. One of them was the peculiar expression which crossed Marion’s face, seeming to convey a warning of some kind; the other, which I sensed rather than heard, was a kind of rustling alertness on the part of the woman sitting behind me.

  Keeping perfectly still, I raised my eyebrows and goggled at Marion, who said in an offhand way:

  ‘Well, he’s here most days, but one never knows. I dare say he’ll be along presently. What did you want to see him about?’

  Before I could answer the door opened and two more people came in, both youngish men and both strangers to me, but evidently old friends of Marion’s, for they greeted her affectionately and, on hearing the saga of Thomas, one of them removed his jacket and insisted on going through to the business side of the bar and standing in as her assistant. While all this was going on the blonde woman quietly got to her feet and slid out of the room.

  ‘Now you’ve done it!’ Marion said, glaring at me accusingly.

  ‘Done what?’

  ‘Lost the restaurant a customer, by the look of it.’

  ‘How could I have, and who is she, anyway? I’ve seen her in here before, but I’ve never met her.’

  ‘She’s only been a member for a few weeks and I’m beginning to regret I ever let her in. Nothing but trouble and complaints. You know who introduced her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Your friend, Desmond.’

  ‘You don’t say! And you mean it was Desmond she was waiting for?’

  ‘Shouldn’t wonder. Your asking about him seems to have put the wind up her.’

  ‘I can’t see why. It was a perfectly innocuous question.’

  There had been a steady influx of new arrivals while we talked, but Marion’s friend had enlisted his companion’s help and they had been coping fairly efficiently. However, a query had now come up concerning the whereabouts of the crème de cassis and Marion twisted her chair round to give the matter her full attention. Simultaneously, an arm was flung round my shoulder and a gravelly tenor voice spoke in my ear.

  ‘Well, my little bundle of mischief, and how are we today?’

  ‘Very well, thank you, if we means me.’

  ‘Very well, are you?’ he said, hoisting himself with infinite care on to the stool next to mine. ‘Yes, you’re looking well; very well indeed, one might almost say.’ Even when sober, Desmond was in the habit of picking up the last speaker’s words and repeating them ad infinitum, in this ponderous fashion. I often suspected that it was because he couldn’t think of anything else to say, but it certainly slowed down the pace of conversation.

  ‘How about you?’ I enquired, to vary things a bit.

  ‘Me?’ he asked solemnly, tightening his mouth in deep thought, as though I had asked him some abstruse question, requiring intense concentration. ‘Well, do you know, I’d go so far as to say I’m moderately well, all things considered.’

  ‘What things considered?’

  ‘What things indeed? Now there’s a thought, isn’t it? Shall I embark on the story of my life, or shall we regard it as an open book and proceed to order me a drink? That would appear to be the question.’

  ‘What are you having, Desmond?’ Marion said, answering it for him.

  ‘Ah, Marion, my darling, how kind of you!’ he replied, pitching his voice so that it could be heard all round the room, at the same time lifting his dark curly head to provide those on either side of him with a splendid view of his gorgeous profile. ‘Would it be too much to ask for a largish scotch and soda?’

  ‘Nothing’s too much trouble for you, my boy,’ she replied equably. ‘Jim dear, stop playing about with that gin and tonic and give the gentleman a large scotch, please!’

  ‘Thank you so much,’ Desmond said gravely. ‘Thank you very much indeed!’ Then, turning back to me, he added with a ravishing smile,

  ‘So you’re well, are you?’

  ‘Yes, we’ve been through all that.’

  ‘So we have, so we have, so we have! Then what shall we talk about now? You’re usually such a chatterbox. One felt one could rely on you to keep the ball of conversation spinning. Spinning, spinning, spinning,’ he chanted, sweeping up his glass on the last round of circular gestures of the hand which accompanied these verbal gems.

  ‘As a matter of fact, Desmond, there was something I wanted to ask you.’

  ‘Ah, was there now? Something you wanted to ask me?’

  ‘Right. From purely personal interest.’

  ‘I was afraid of that. Purely personal interest is becoming all too common in this purely shoddy world. However, I am prepared to indulge you. Ask away, dear child, ask away!’

  ‘I was curious about your new friendship with Phil Roper.’

  ‘Phil what?’

  ‘Roper. You know, the young man at Roakes Common. Friend of Ellen’s. You seem to have struck up an entente.’

  ‘No, no, nothing of the kind. He rang me up, you know, that’s all it was. Rung up, not struck up.’

  ‘What for?’

  The beautiful dark head went slightly out of control at this point because Desmond had flung it back at a shade too sharp an angle, in order to give emphasis to a hollow laugh, with the resu
lt that he almost tipped backwards on to the floor.

  ‘That is something you would never, never guess,’ he announced when he had recovered himself.

  ‘I know, that’s why I’m asking you. He’s such a shy creature, as a rule, much too diffident, I’d have thought, to approach the celebrated Davidson. That’s why I was rather intrigued to hear about it.’

  ‘Intrigued, were you? Were you now? And how did you hear about it?’

  ‘His mother told me.’

  ‘Ah, his mother! How true! He has a mother, has he not? And a right old bore she is, too, I seem to remember hearing.’

  ‘Oh, Toby doesn’t like her, but that means nothing. She’s okay, poor old Alison. She was a bit puzzled though by Phil going to see you,’ I said, endeavouring to get back to the point.

  ‘So was I, if you want to know. Puzzled to the depths of my lily-white soul. Time for another drink, wouldn’t you say? Do me the honour of joining me, since it all goes on the slate anyway,’ he said, banging his empty glass on the counter.

  ‘No thanks, I’m making mine last. Why were you puzzled?’

  ‘What a lot of dreary questions you ask,’ he complained with an abrupt change of mood, drawing his eyebrows together in a heavy frown and fixing me with a cold and hostile look, strongly reminiscent of counsel for the defence who had got the chief prosecution witness into a tight corner. ‘I am puzzled to know why you are puzzled,’ he continued in a tone of quiet menace.

  ‘I told you why.’

  ‘Oh, did you?’ he asked, picking up his newly-filled glass and promptly abandoning the courtroom scene. ‘To be candid, I’d forgotten that. My memory is not always quite the thing at this hour of the morning. However, since we’re being so frank with each other, I don’t mind telling you that this ungainly youth telephoned to say that he had a matter of some urgency to consult me about.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  ‘An urgent matter that he wished to consult me about,’ Desmond said, never above repeating his own last words when no others were available. ‘A matter of such urgency, furthermore, that it required a private interview. You may imagine my astonishment, nay disbelief, when, having granted this oaf one hour of my valuable drinking time, I discovered that all he wanted were some professional tips.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘On how to put himself across as a leaping-about, pop-singing winner of all hearts at a seaside holiday camp. Could you be more astounded?’

  ‘Yes and no.’

  ‘Yes and no, you say?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I am not sure if I can accept that,’ Desmond announced pompously. ‘Either one is astounded, or one is not astounded. There can be no half measures in that game.’

  ‘Yes, there can, because it was no surprise to hear he was moving into the entertainment business. I knew that already. The astonishment came from hearing he had sought your advice. Were you able to oblige?’

  ‘No, I was not able to oblige. I felt constrained to point out that I had not served my apprenticeship on Southend pier.’

  ‘Very proper! And what did he say to that?’

  ‘What did who say to what? I am afraid I have forgotten what we were talking about. All I remember is that it was insufferably boring. Could we please change the subject?’

  ‘What did Phil say when you gave him the brush?’

  ‘Oh, still on that, are we? I don’t think he said anything.’

  ‘Nothing at all?’

  ‘Nothing at all. Or else I wasn’t listening.’

  As he said this, Desmond turned his head away from me and stared straight ahead of him, blinking his eyes rather rapidly, as though the need to get Marion into focus had now become imperative. While he was working away at it, someone came up behind us and tapped him gently on the arm. It was Madge, Marion’s senior lieutenant in the restaurant, a self-effacing young woman of towering efficiency and incorruptible discretion. She knew every member of the club by name, their tastes in food and wine, which tables they preferred and probably a good many more things as well, but had never been known to betray a confidence by so much as a flicker, a quality which she now proceeded to demonstrate by saying in an undertone:

  ‘Message for you, Mr Davidson. The party you were lunching with telephoned to say they can’t get here. They’ll be in touch with you at the other place, later.’

  ‘My darling Madge, how kind and thoughtful of you to tell me,’ Desmond said in sonorous tones. ‘I am deeply grateful, although I had quite forgotten I had a luncheon engagement and I am not feeling very hungry today, so perhaps it is all for the best. I shall treat myself to another drink instead.’

  Whereupon he started banging his glass on the counter again and I polished off the dregs of the whisky sour and slid down from my stool. Not much had been gleaned from the conversation, but I knew it would be a waste of time to prolong it. Past experience informed me that Desmond had approximately one more drink to go before he passed out, and even the remote chance of picking up a nugget or two during the final lucid moments was insufficient compensation for being the one to catch him when he fell.

  2

  ‘Besides, it’s my belief that I’d wrung him dry,’ I told Robin. ‘It’s curious about Desmond, but at times he covers up remarkably well and you don’t get a clue to how drunk he is until the plates start flying; he can also put on a very convincing act of being a lot further gone than he actually is.’

  ‘He’d obviously been putting it away this morning, though,’ Robin observed.

  ‘Yes, but I noticed that as soon as Phil’s name was mentioned he became much more ostentatiously drunk, yet oddly enough more articulate as well. It was as though he was really thinking about what he was saying, instead of tossing words out at random. He knew it was no use denying that Phil had approached him, but all the same I have an idea he was concealing something and thinking very hard how to handle it.’

  ‘And what do you suppose Phil was really after, assuming this holiday camp business was just a blind?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose he’d found that it worked with his mother, so might as well be used again; but I must say, it never sounded very convincing to me. Anyone less fitted by temperament to jolly the customers along and be the life and soul of the party would be difficult to find and I can’t believe he had any real intention of applying for the job. I suppose it was the best he could think of because the poor mutt had decided that Ellen’s life is in danger and he must ride forth on his white charger and protect her, or maybe protect Jeremy for her, which would be even more chivalrous. Not for nothing was he infected by her King Arthur bug.’

  ‘And all this being brought on by his belief that Desmond was present, disguised as a waiter, when Irene picked up the wrong drink?’

  ‘Right. Which personally I think is nonsense. Whatever Jez may say, I’m certain one of us would have recognised him. On the other hand, it would be difficult to prove because I’ve discovered that there was no guarantee that the other waiters would have noticed that they were one over strength, or had a stranger in their midst.’

  ‘How did you pick that up?’

  ‘Sheer fluke. The first time I tried to see Osgood when he was tied up with the police, I had time to waste and I used up part of it in the lounge of the Swan Hotel, and by the most fortunate coincidence I was served by one of the waiters who’d been at the reception. He’s a Cypriot and he works in Soho during the winter, but every summer he transfers himself and his family to some river or coast resort where they take on extra staff for the season. It provides a nice, varied life and it’s profitable, as well.’

  ‘And I suppose something of the kind applies to most of the men employed by that catering firm?’

  ‘Yes, with all the regattas and so forth, they have many more bookings in the summer and they take on casual staff from all over the place. There’s a nucleus, of course, who are permanently employed, but the others are all quite accustomed to finding themselves working with people they’ve
never seen before and, once he’d checked them all in, the M.C. would hardly bother to go round counting heads to make sure there wasn’t one too many. All the same, I still think Phil’s on the wrong track. Shall I tell you why?’

  ‘If you would be so very kind?’

  ‘I’ll forgive the sarcasm, since you’re being patient enough to listen. It’s because if Desmond, in a frenzy of jealousy, had really conceived this wild scheme, it could hardly have come to him on the spur of the moment, you’ll agree?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it’s unlikely that he would have had a dose of lethal poison concealed about his person purely by chance.’

  ‘Exactly, and if it had been planned in advance, the one thing he would have been most careful to avoid was drawing attention to himself. If he hadn’t turned up in church there would have been no reason for Phil or anyone else to connect him with the murder; but he not only did turn up there, with no disguise at all, he went out of his way to ensure that everyone knew it.’

  ‘I know, Tessa, but if you postulate that all murderers are slightly cracked in some way and Desmond, if guilty, even more so than the average, then it’s no good applying logical arguments of that kind. Unless, of course, it was a deliberate trick to get attention focused on himself, so as to leave a clear field for his accomplice. In which case, it will doubtless turn out that he does have an unbreakable alibi.’