“Lady Mortimer.”
“Sir Harry.”
They kissed.
“Well,” he said after a few seconds. “How about this evening we skip the gin and jump straight to the main course?”
She kissed him again, her eyes soft.
“Would love to—”
Her blue-green eyes were wide, clearly speaking the truth.
“But?”
“Exactly,” she said. “But.”
“Ah, right,” he said, stepping back now, taking on his best detective pose. “Let me guess. Coat. Bag. Smart shoes. We’ve been invited out?”
“Something like that,” she said, reaching in and doing up his tie again, then taking his hat from his hand and perching it on his head.
“Don’t tell me. A case?” said Harry.
“A case indeed.”
“Time to hit the cocktails before or…”
“Might have to wait,” said Kat.
Then he watched as she took his briefcase and his Times, placed them in the hallway, shut the door behind them, and took his arm.
“Sounds urgent,” he said.
“I’ll tell you all about it – or as much as I know – on the way,” she said, and together they turned and walked back down the drive.
*
“Six weeks ago,” said Kat, as they crossed the road by the church and headed down High Street, “Lizzie Spence – twenty-one years old, daughter of Aubrey and Glenys Spence, upright citizens of Mydworth both – ran away to seek her fortune in the West End of London.”
“Ah, that old tale. The lure of the bright lights. Smell of the greasepaint, eh?”
“Something like that. Trouble is, Harry – apart from a couple of postcards – the parents haven’t heard a word from her.”
She looked straight at her husband as he pondered this.
“Glenys, the mother, is beside herself with worry and has conjured up all kinds of terrible fates that might have befallen the poor girl.”
“And from what I know of the West End,” Harry said, “her imagination may not be too far off the reality. What about the police?”
“Ah yes. Well, Sergeant Timms says, unfortunately, the young girl is old enough to do what she likes. She’s clearly gone of her own volition and, therefore, they can’t help.”
“Sounds about right to me. Hands tied, and so on,” said Harry. “Twenty-one? I mean, she is an adult after all.”
“You’re all heart, Harry.”
“Now hang on. I feel for them. The girl too. Still, the law’s the law.”
Kat shook her head. “Well, I do hope you won’t take that attitude when our daughter runs away from home.”
“Ah, you see, that’s where you get a bit off course, Kat darling. Daughter of ours? Never run away from home, because she’ll simply love us too much. And besides – I thought you said we were going to have lots of sons? Thinking cricket, rugby, and—”
“Any daughter of ours will enjoy all that as well.”
“With you as her mother, I don’t doubt it. Now, when exactly were you planning on launching this ‘sons and daughters’ scheme of ours?”
Kat grinned. “We’ll just have to see about that. Your family values will have to improve first.”
“Got it. Being a thoroughly modern husband isn’t that easy you know.”
Kat reached up and touched his shoulder. Always so good to have him by her side. And so much fun to be with.
“But seriously, Kat, nobody can make a grown woman stay with Mum and Dad if she doesn’t want to.”
Kat stopped at the corner of Market Square. Though she knew the centre of town now, she still hadn’t worked out the maze of streets that surrounded it. “Rosemary Lane – it’s down here, somewhere, isn’t it?”
“Straight down, second left, I seem to remember,” said Harry, taking her arm now and leading the way.
“Here’s the thing, Harry. I don’t think they want to bring Lizzie home,” continued Kat, “they just want to know where she is – and that she’s safe.”
“Ah well. That’s reasonable enough,” said Harry as he stopped at a last corner of terraced houses. “Here we are – Rosemary Lane. One of the most respectable roads in Mydworth, I’ll have you know.” He leaned into her. “And absolutely filled with respectable people. Now, what’s the number we’re looking for?”
Kat looked down the tree-lined road. She could see larger houses set back in wide gardens. “Not a number. Called… Elm Croft.”
“Do hope they have a helpful sign outside. Otherwise this might be more challenging than it ought to be.”
Together they walked slowly down the lane in the ebbing light, checking the names on the gates, the houses looking solid and, yes, respectable. Lawns neatly cropped; cars in most of the driveways.
At the end of the lane, they finally came to “Elm Croft”, all mock Tudor gables and mullioned windows.
Kat took in the big garden, the large sedan parked out front.
“Well, this has to be worth a bob or two,” said Harry as they walked up the drive. “Think if we take this ‘case’ you should ask the Spences for a very generous WVS donation.”
“Oh, don’t you worry,” said Kat. “Nicola’s made that clear already.”
And she stepped up onto the porch and rang the bell.
*
After a minute, the door opened slowly. A tired looking woman in a woollen dress and cardigan, neat pearl necklace, and low heels, peered round the door at them suspiciously.
“Mrs Spence?” said Kat, smiling. “I’m from the WVS. I believe Nicola Green told you I’d be coming over?”
“Lady Mortimer?” said the woman, as if confused by Kat’s American accent.
“And Sir Harry Mortimer,” said Harry, putting out his hand to shake the woman’s. She took it, limply. “At your service.”
“Y-you’d better come in,” she said, opening the door and ushering them in, then closing it swiftly behind them as if worried the neighbours would see.
Kat looked at Harry, who raised his eyebrows in return.
He, too, had noticed the woman’s nervousness.
*
Harry sat on the pristine sofa. Kat took notes. Harry sipped his tea, watching Mrs Spence carefully as she recounted the events surrounding her daughter’s departure.
He and Kat had worked together on a few cases now, and seemed instinctively to know when one should do the talking and the other the listening.
Both, so important.
“We hadn’t an inkling. None at all. You see, it was a Saturday, and we all sleep a little later on a Saturday. I went into Lizzie’s room around ten and that’s when I saw the bed empty! And just a note on the side.”
“Could we see the note, Mrs Spence?” said Kat.
Harry watched the woman open her handbag and hand it over to Kat, who read it then passed it to Harry.
“It doesn’t say much, does it?” said Mrs Spence. “‘Going to London. Will let you know soon as I’ve got work. Theatre interviews already set up. Don’t worry about me.’ See? I know it by heart. Hardly worth writing. Made Aubrey so terribly angry.”
“Aubrey – that’s Mr Spence?” said Harry. He saw her nod. “Would it be possible to talk to him?” he said.
“Aubrey’s not home yet. From London.”
Harry sensed the woman’s tension talking about her husband.
“Ah,” he said, “that’s a shame. When are you expecting him?”
“Fridays… he’s often late.”
“He works in the City?”
“Imperial Fidelity,” said Mrs Spence. “He’s a partner.”
Harry nodded. He knew of Imperial, an old and eminently respectable investment house, which looked after funds for, among others, the Church of England.
And, Harry imagined, having a daughter run away to join the theatre might not play well at the office.
“Was this the first you knew that Lizzie wanted to be an actress?” said Kat.
“Oh, she
’s been going on about it for years, but we never took her seriously, you know? Thought she’d grow out of it. Get a secretarial job somewhere, settle down, meet somebody solid. I mean, that’s what’s supposed to happen, isn’t it?”
“And does she have any, um, connections, in the theatre world?” asked Harry.
“I hardly think so!” said Mrs Spence, as if the very idea were scandalous. “She’s lived her whole life here in Mydworth! But what do I know? After this, I’m not sure I know her at all!”
“Is she an outgoing sort of girl?” said Kat. “You know, parties, lots of pals, tennis and so on?”
“No, not at all. Only thing she does – and very seriously, mind you – is her dance class.”
“And where does that happen?” said Kat.
“At the Town Hall,” said Mrs Spence. “There’s a company comes over from Chichester, runs them every Saturday morning.”
“Good Lord,” said Harry. “Dance classes – right here in Mydworth!”
From the look on Kat’s face, he could tell… now not the time for humour.
He turned back to the girl’s mother.
“Perhaps there are people at the dance class who might know where she went?”
“Oh, Aubrey tried that, the Saturday after she left. Went down there. Spoke to the woman in charge. But she didn’t know anything. Least, so she said.”
“What’s the name of the company?” said Kat, pencil ready at her notebook.
“The De Souza Academy of Dance and Drama.”
“De Souza?” said Harry.
“Woman who runs it. Constanza de Souza. She’s not English, of course.”
“Of course,” said Harry nodding sympathetically.
Clearly in Mrs Spence’s eyes, being “not English” was obviously tantamount to being a potential ne’er-do-well.
England hadn’t changed much, Harry thought, in his years abroad.
“Mrs Spence – was Lizzie a good dancer?” said Kat. “Talented? Do you think she could make it in London?”
“I have absolutely no idea,” said Mrs Spence, with a shrug.
“You never saw her perform?”
“Well, yes, in a few shows they staged. And was it good? These days all they do is jump around isn’t it? Is that really dancing? Indecent too! The very names make one shudder. The Shimmy. The Black Bottom. Not in my day!”
Harry looked at Kat. She was being so patient with this woman, who it was becoming quite clear didn’t know much about her daughter’s life.
“You did say you’ve had a couple of postcards from Lizzie,” said Harry. “Do you have them to hand as well?”
Mrs Spence nodded, as she dipped in her handbag again and handed them over to Harry.
Both tourist snapshots of London landmarks – buses, Big Ben. And on the message side, just reassuring words and phrases “everything going well”, “lots of chorus jobs”, “more work than I can cope with”, “will pop home when I can”, “Hollywood here I come!”
He checked the postmarks. They were both London W1. No other clues as to her whereabouts. No return address or telephone number.
He passed them to Kat.
“What about a photograph of Lizzie?” said Harry. “One we could take?”
“You mean… you think… you two might help us?”
Harry looked at Kat as she answered.
“Possibly.”
Mrs Spence fumbled in her handbag and brought out a dog-eared photo, handed it to Kat, who then passed it over.
“You know,” Harry said. “Perhaps she is just as she says, very busy. Young people – they can easily forget to be in touch, can’t they?”
But the look in Mrs Spence’s eyes chilled Harry.
“Not my Lizzie,” said Mrs Spence. “She’s in trouble, I know it. Feel it in my bones.”
Harry heard the front door open and saw the woman look up suddenly, a flash of alarm visible on her face.
“Oh dear,” she said, leaning forward and almost whispering. “That’s Aubrey now. I must warn you – he wasn’t at all happy when I told him I’d asked for help—”
But before she could finish, the door to the sitting room opened and Harry saw, framed in the entrance, a man he guessed was Aubrey Spence: City coat and hat still on, face pink, eyes dark behind small round spectacles.
“Glenys!” he said, his voice dripping – Harry thought – with equal amounts of alarm and suspicion. “What the devil is going on? I thought I told you we didn’t need help?”
Harry stood up instinctively and offered his hand. “Mr Spence… Sir Harry Mortimer—”
“I know who you are, Sir Harry. And your wife, Lady Mortimer.” A bit of a nod towards Kat. “I can assure you both, this is nothing personal. What has happened to our daughter is a private family matter. We shall deal with it.”
Kat also stood. “Mr Spence, I completely understand. But, you see, your wife asked us here to help, and I believe we can. Sir Harry and I, well, we have a bit of experience with such things. So, if you’ll just let us—”
“Mrs Spence is mistaken. And now I simply must ask you to leave. My apologies for any inconvenience. I trust you will forget the whole matter.” Then he added, his voice direct, “And say nothing to anyone about it.”
Harry stared at the man, Spence’s anger clearly barely restrained. And, though he suspected Kat wanted to argue the case, he sensed – better to withdraw and regroup.
That military training still coming in handy.
“Quite understand, old chap,” Harry said, reaching for his coat that lay on the sofa beside him. “Crossed wires, I’m sure.” Then he turned to Kat. “Best we head home, leave it at that, I think.”
He saw Kat open her mouth, ready to argue – then, as he gave her the slightest of winks, a signal he hoped – she, too, picked up her coat and nodded.
“Of course,” she said, then turning to Mrs Spence and shaking her hand. “Thank you so much for the tea. And I do hope you have some positive news of your daughter very soon.”
“Goodbye, Sir Harry,” said Spence, holding out his hand. “Lady Mortimer.”
But Kat didn’t shake it. Harry sensed she wanted to open fire on the father with both barrels.
The bullying – definitely not Kat’s cup of tea.
And he gently placed a persuasive hand on her shoulder.
“We’ll see ourselves out, don’t you worry,” he said quickly.
Harry nudged Kat forward. As a grim Mr Spence stood to one side, they went out into the hall, opened the front door and left, without looking back.
“You know,” Kat said as they reached the end of the drive, “I was ready to take his hand and instead of shaking it, give it—”
“Oh, I guessed that,” Harry said laughing. “Okay then, so, Saturday tomorrow. Dance class first thing?”
“Madame de Souza? You bet,” said Kat.
Harry knew that, though she was still fuming, she’d be relieved to hear his suggestion.
They were definitely on this case, if it was one.
“Then straight up to London. Find the girl – yes?”
“Absolutely,” said Kat. “To hell with Mr Spence’s orders to stand down.”
“Curious that, don’t you think? Just a matter of privacy? Family honour? I’m not so sure.”
“That bull-headed man,” she said a minute later, as they walked at some pace back down Rosemary Lane. “That bloody man, he—”
“Deserves a punch in the face, does he?” said Harry.
She laughed. “Too right! Followed by a swift kick in the—”
“Ahem… changing topics… brandy and sodas when we get home, don’t you think?” said Harry, turning to her and pausing for a second. “Oh, and there was a rumour of a dinner on offer?”
He leaned towards her. “Or do I have that wrong, Lady Mortimer?”
She stared at him – then laughed.
“Yes – if you play your cards right,” she said. “Large brandies first though. And whatever else my
Sir Harry might like…”
“Oh, you Americans. You do know how turn a phrase.”
Harry put his arm through hers and pulled her closer as they carried on walking back through the dark streets of Mydworth.
It might take more than a couple of drinks to bring his wife – his wonderful, passionate, righteous wife – back to earth after this encounter.
But she was always worth the effort.
3. A Chance Meeting
Kat and Harry made their way through the bustling stalls of Market Square towards the Town Hall, past early morning shoppers, delivery trucks and hand carts.
Kat had been down here to shop most Saturday mornings since she’d come to Mydworth, but she’d never been inside the Town Hall that dominated the square.
She turned to Harry. “That feeling – you know? When a case starts…”
“Good, isn’t it?” he said.
She pushed open the double glass doors of the imposing stone building, Harry right behind her as she went in.
To one side, she could see a hall filled with tables and shoppers – a handicraft market, it seemed.
Ahead of them, a wide flight of stairs. And as she took in the smells and sounds of the old building, she heard music from upstairs. A piano being played, and the sound of feet.
“Sounds familiar,” she said.
“What? You used to dance? Thought you were busy riding all the time. What was that park near you, with stables? Van… van…?” said Harry, still discovering new facts about his wife.
“Van Cortland Park. And yes, not only did I dance, Harry – I was pretty damn good at it,” said Kat, leading the way up the stairs. “Couldn’t you tell from all those parties?”
“Thought that shaking a leg thing was simply natural ability. Fetching too, I might add.”
“Hard work, all that. If the war hadn’t happened – dance was one of my ways out of the Bronx.”
“Well waddya know,” said Harry in his best American accent. “True confessions – I married a hoofer.”
“Hoofer? My plan – star of the show, I’ll have you know.”
At the top of the stairs they stopped. Ahead, through more glass double doors, Kat could see a theatre space; seats all stacked to one side, the stage curtained. On a sprung floor, lines of girls of all ages in slips and plimsolls were being drilled by a tall, angular woman in a red sheath skirt.
Mydworth Mysteries--London Calling! Page 2