by Anne Morice
‘Just. And you’re driving him mad too. For one thing, there’s this theatre this evening. We’ll have to let the box office know, if we can’t use your seat. And that’s not all. Louisa is nagging us to death about whether your room is likely to be back on the market.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly! She must know it will be paid for, whether I use it or not. As there are vast wastes of empty rooms which she hasn’t a hope of being paid for, she ought to see it as a bonus.’
‘The situation has changed. It is now panic stations all round and her reproachful eyes follow us everywhere. It almost spoilt our lunch, which would have been a pity because it was right back on form. The stove has been repaired and Mr God is here to ensure that the highest standards are kept up.’
‘I begin to see! That’s the reason for all the hysteria, is it?’
‘Yes, and there’s any amount of drama going on, one way and another. You’d be a fool to miss it.’
‘And an even bigger fool, I daresay, to believe a word of it. Still, it’s nice to be wanted and Mrs Parkes didn’t look quite so delighted to see me as I’d expected. I’d forgotten that she’d planned to invite her sister to stay while I was away and they thought they were off to spend tomorrow at the Windsor Safari Park. What time does this thing start tonight?’
‘Seven thirty.’
‘Oh, all right, I might see you then, or in the first interval. And in return for that, Tessa, there’s something you can see to right away, if you want to undo some of the havoc you’ve caused.’
‘Anything you say!’
‘Explain to Louisa that my reason for leaving was that Mrs Parkes had reminded me that I had an appointment with my doctor this afternoon. It’s good news. I’m to come off the diet right away and start building myself up. Calories are what I need now and the more the better.’
In fact, to our relief, he did not turn up until ten minutes into the interval. There was only one and it lasted for an hour, enabling the audience to eat its dinner either in the barn, which had been transformed into a candlelit restaurant, or from picnic baskets in the walled garden.
Relief came from two causes, one being that the production rarely rose to the level of mediocrity, many of the cast being inaudible, even to those who knew the words by heart and in a theatre the size of a doll’s house.
Furthermore, as the aggregate was roughly three roles to each player, we were faced with the prospect of listening to them being inaudible later on as different characters. Also, had he arrived on time, he would have seen the slip of paper which fell out of the programme, informing us that the part of Jacques in this performance would be taken by someone with the unpromising name of Peregrine Holt.
‘Don’t say a word,’ I muttered to Robin before the house lights went down. ‘With all that costume and wig, he won’t know the difference.’
‘Won’t he find out, though, when we go round afterwards and are greeted by Peregrine instead of Jimmie?’
‘No, he hates going round afterwards, so we’ll say it’s not on because Jimmie has to dress in a broom cupboard, with five others, which is quite likely to be true, and he’ll swallow it gratefully.’
It had stopped raining soon after we set out on this expedition, which was fortunate because Robin had now become single-minded about getting his last pennyworth and had requested Louisa to provide us with a picnic dinner, stipulating only that it should not include cold ham, or anything distantly related to it. This embargo had received due attention and once again the management of Mattingly Grange had looked around for the opposite extreme and found it.
One observer, a handsome, middle-aged, friendly looking woman, who strolled across to talk to us while we were digging into the saumon en croute, was much impressed:
‘You two do yourselves well,’ she remarked. ‘That’s what I call a spread.’
‘We’ve got Toby’s share here too, you see,’ I explained, ‘why don’t you join us? There’s more than enough, if he does come, and we can’t take it with us. I wouldn’t dare, in case Robin demanded a rebate. There’s a macintosh under this rug, so you won’t get pneumonia, or ruin your dress. You remember Robin, don’t you?’ I added, as she hastened to avail herself of the invitation.
Although it was some years now since we had met, I did not consider it necessary to remind him that she was Roberta Grayle, known to a million friends as Bobbie. Nor was it, and he declared himself to be delighted to see her.
‘And what brings you here on such a night?’ I enquired. ‘Not snooping on Peregrine, by any chance? Judging by his performance as Le Beau in Act One, Jimmie hasn’t a thing to worry about.’
‘I know that, darling and so does he. It’s you two he’s worried about. I am here to apologise for this unfortunate absence. I, on the other hand, am inclined to be worried about him. It is becoming rather like La Ronde in a rustic setting.’
‘What’s the matter? Is he ill?’
‘Not exactly, although in a certain amount of pain, I gather. Tell me something, just between ourselves; did he have rather a lot to drink last night?’
‘I wouldn’t have said so, Bobbie. He was sober enough when we said goodnight to him and he was on the point of leaving then.’
‘What time was that?’
‘About eleven, wouldn’t you say, Robin?’
‘Not later, certainly. Are you worried because he’s suffering from what appear to be symptoms of a hangover?’
‘No, he’s hurt his wrist. Or so he says.’
‘And how does he say he did it?’
‘That when he was on his way home the car went into a skid and, in wrenching the steering wheel round, to try and pull out of it, he somehow managed to sprain his wrist. His left one, fortunately.’
‘A likely tale, in your opinion?’
‘I don’t see why, though,’ Robin objected. ‘There’s no denying that it must have started to bucket with rain at some point during the night and that can make the roads very tricky, especially after a long dry spell like we’ve just had.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘So why not believe him?’
‘Oh, just me being silly old mother hen, I suppose, but one begins to sense when people one knows well are lying, don’t you find?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ I told her, with a glance at Robin, who said:
‘And so you suspect that it may have been more serious than he pretends and he made up this story so as not to worry you? If so, he can hardly claim to have succeeded. Is the car all right?’
‘Not a scratch, and that’s another funny thing. I mean, do you honestly believe that a strong man could sprain his wrist simply by wrenching the wheel round? Wouldn’t it take some kind of jolt, as well?’
‘Such as a sharp collision with an immovable object, for instance?’
‘Right. And furthermore, if one had sprained one’s wrist, would one just wrap it up in about twelve yards of bandage and stick it in a home made sling? Wouldn’t one be more likely to hurry round to the doctor to make sure no bones were broken?’
‘One might well,’ I agreed, ‘but I still don’t see what difference it would make if one were drunk or sober when it happened.’
‘None at all to most people, but you see I’m stuck with the hideous phobia about alcohol and no one knows it better than Jimmie. I signed my own private pledge years ago. It’s not much use trying to persuade someone else to lay off, if you’re fortifying yourself with a swig or two while preaching about it. That’s why it occurred to me that Jimmie might have been plastered last night and then got mixed up in some brawl. It would be just like his mean-spirited old crook of a father to egg him on to something like that. Still, you tell me it wasn’t so, and I expect I’m making far too much of it. Just put it down to paranoia.’
‘Have you met his father?’
‘Only once and it was a disaster. I am obviously not his type.’
‘Is he really a crook?’
‘No, I shouldn’t think so, I’m only repeating
what Jimmie has told me and no one could claim that he has an open mind on that subject. The big surprise is that he should have consented to go to the party at all. I suppose the poor old darling saw it as an olive branch and was too good natured to throw it back where it came from.’
‘Where is Jimmie now?’ Robin asked.
‘At home with Max. And by home I mean just down the road. It was too far for him to drive to London every night, so the three of us have rented a cottage here for the season. You must come over and have lunch one day while you’re here. I should warn you, though, that it won’t be up to this standard,’ she added, helping herself to another dollop of iced pudding.
Luckily, despite her hearty appetite, there was still a respectable amount left when Toby arrived by taxi a few minutes later. He was full of complaints, as usual, and we might have spent what remained of the interval in listening to them, had not Robin, in one of his brilliant flashes of genius, pointed out that Jimmie’s sprained wrist absolved us from the necessity of going back into the theatre at all.
Elation was short lived, however, because we had reckoned without Bobbie. Either because her heart was large enough to embrace the entire population of southern England, or because anything which affected Jimmie’s interests, however remotely, had to be protected, she refused to allow such backsliding. Reminding us that the gaping hole left by three empty seats in the fifth row could only demoralise the cast still further, she brought the rebellion to an end.
The first part of the journey home passed merrily enough in tearing the production to pieces and then reassembling it, in order to repeat the process from another point of view. When that topic was exhausted, we moved on to the mysterious behaviour of Jimmie and his sprained wrist. Toby, to whom all this came as news, was not disposed to treat it seriously.
‘Quite simple,’ he announced, ‘he used the first excuse that came into his retarded little head not to go on tonight and, for once, I do not blame him.’
‘You may be right,’ I admitted, ‘it does sound like that, but all the same it’s out of character. Retarded or not, he’s still a pro and he’d rather be seen in fifth-rate surroundings than not be seen at all.’
‘On the other hand,’ Robin said, ‘whatever he may or may not have done to his wrist, I doubt very much if he has sprained it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Bobbie told us it was his left one.’
‘And?’
‘You might conceivably get away with steering right handed only, if you were cautious, but with a right hand drive it’s the left one which has to do all the work.’
‘How about if it was an automatic?’
‘This one isn’t. My copper’s eye is trained to pick out such trivia and last night Jimmie was driving an ancient Triumph convertible. Automatic gears had scarcely been heard of when that model was built.’
‘There now!’ I said. ‘And just fancy! I think I’ll ring him up in the morning and tease him a bit. The more he goes on about how his wrist is quite all right now, thank you, the more I’ll keep insisting that he ought to get it X-rayed.’
‘You’d better watch it!’ Robin said, turning into our tree-lined drive. ‘One of these days your sadistic sense of humour will get you into trouble.’
I did not take this warning seriously and I daresay I was not intended to, but all the same the threat was never carried out. The morning was to provide more interesting events to occupy the mind, and the subject of Jimmie and his sprained wrist was temporarily relegated to the miscellaneous memory file.
DAY FOUR. MORNING AND AFTERNOON
(1)
By Thursday morning everything, on the surface at any rate, was back to normal at Mattingly Grange. The sun shone, the breakfast trolley had been wheeled in on time and the sheep were once more visible from the windows of Numbers Two and Three.
‘So what shall we do this morning?’ Robin asked.
‘It is not an easy decision. The choice seems to lie between tramping round some ancient barns, scouring Chissingfield for knitting wool, or checking on progress in the summer house. Perhaps it would be more amusing to stay here and track down Mrs Fellowes. I am keen to hear about yesterday’s expedition.’
‘It was really quite sinister and depressing,’ she informed us when we had tracked her down to the terrace, where she sat plying her needle and looking more ambassadorial than ever in a lavender coloured dress and double row of pearls. She also reminded me of the Lady of Shalott, for she had her back to the garden and all she could see of it was the blurred and broken reflection in the plate glass windows.
‘One hardly knows whether to laugh or cry,’ she added, not looking ready to do either.
‘You mean nothing came of it?’ Robin asked.
‘Oh, something came of it, yes indeed, but quite the last thing one would have wished. Charles is taking his mind off things with a round of golf,’ she explained, floating off on another tack. ‘So sensible of him, but really I begin to wonder how long we shall be able to go on like this. We seem to keep moving round in circles and getting nowhere. It is all so frustrating and boring.’
Her special brand of evasiveness, taking the form of speaking at length without saying anything, was beginning to wear me down, but Robin was made of sterner stuff:
‘So none of your property has turned up, after all? Perhaps that is a relief, in one sense?’
‘No, my dear, it wasn’t as simple as that. If only it had been!’
He did not comment and, evidently deciding that she was now in danger of losing her audience, she went on: ‘We did find some of our belongings, you see, but nothing of any value, apart from the sentimental one. So now we are in the horrid position of having to accept that the fire was not the straightforward affair we had supposed it to be, without the compensation of recovering some of our treasures.’
‘What kind of things were they?’ I asked.
‘High class junk is really the best way to describe them. The only one I was happy to see again was the patchwork quilt my grandmother made for her trousseau. Apart from that, there was a Victorian china washstand set and one or two engravings of the same period. Then there was rather a hideous art nouveau lamp, a little silver cigar cutter and an ivory chess set, which was probably the only thing of any real value. Oh, and a collection of medals, believe it or not!’
‘Medals?’
‘Yes, we used to keep them inside a glass topped table. They’d all been acquired by members of Charles’s family, from the Boer War down to the last one. Curious thing to steal, don’t you think? But we were told there is quite a demand for them among collectors.’
‘Which also applies to the other things you’ve mentioned,’ Robin told her. ‘Junk to you, maybe, but there’s a thriving market for it now. So much so that it’s become worthwhile to mass produce copies.’
‘And where was it found?’ I asked, ‘or didn’t they tell you?’
‘It was part of a consignment which was on its way to France. All I can say is that I wish it had got there, instead of falling off a lorry into the hands of the police. Now we’re faced with having to find a home for the poor things, which can only lead to more trouble and expense and another round of wrangles with the insurance company. Such a bore!’
‘Not to mention,’ Robin reminded her, ‘the still more tricky questions of how these odds and ends survived the fire.’
‘You’re so right, Mr Price, but I must tell you of a little theory Charles has about that. He’d be too shy to mention it himself, but I’d be so interested to hear your views, if I haven’t bored you enough already with our troubles?’
‘Not in the least bored,’ I assured her. ‘Other people’s troubles tend to be so much more amusing than one’s own, don’t you think?’
‘Well, if your husband agrees that Charles could be right about this, it will at least mean the end of one of our troubles, which would be some comfort. What he believes, you see, is that although it was not reported at the time, these bits
and pieces did somehow escape the fire and were removed after it was put out. In other words, a little light looting.’
‘By members of the Fire Brigade, you mean?’
‘I suppose it would have to be them, wouldn’t it? Could such a thing be possible?’
‘I wouldn’t have thought so. Did your husband suggest it to the police?’
‘No, I advised him not to. I thought it best to consult you first and find out what their reaction was likely to be.’
‘I suppose a lot would depend on what evidence you have to back it up.’
‘Oh, none whatever. What evidence could we have when we were out of the country?’
‘That wouldn’t necessarily make any difference. For instance, one very obvious question is, had these things been lumped together in one room in a part of the house which was relatively undamaged, or were they spread around?’
‘I don’t know that I can tell you offhand. Perhaps one of the boys would remember. I could ask them.’
‘I would, if I were you because it could be vital. One could conceivably imagine someone snatching up a few trifles close to hand, after the job was finished. Improbable, I should have said, but conceivable. Whereas, to have made a tour of the premises, scavenging anything which remained intact, would have been far more complicated. At the very least, it would have required the rest of the team to turn a blind eye. The more logical conclusion has to be that they were all involved, and that does seem a bit far-fetched. Still, if you think this is what may have happened, I would certainly advise you to lodge a complaint. I can assure you that it will be very thoroughly investigated and no effort spared to find the culprit.’
He was beginning to sound more like an Inspector interrogating a hostile witness than someone engaged in conversation with a fellow guest and he evidently had a similar effect on Mrs Fellowes, for she said:
‘Oh dear, that doesn’t sound very pleasant. Rather like taking a sledge hammer to crush a walnut. I shall definitely advise Charles to think no more about it. Obviously, the most sensible thing is to accept our few crumbs and ask no questions. Oh, my goodness, and now I seem to be running out of pink embroidery silk. I shall have to make the effort to go upstairs and rout around for some more.’