“That’s my guess. Eager, scour the side of the road where the path into the woods starts. The rain might have created a little mud and, God help us, some tire tracks. Measure and photograph whatever you find. Guff, how long before you can muster a posse?”
“An hour.”
Tyler gave Eagleton a swipe on the arm. “Get going. Leave a marker at the road and the others will join you there. Don’t give up until it’s dark.”
The constable, trying unsuccessfully to hide his pride in the assignment, hurried off.
Tyler lifted the piece of wood and slipped it gingerly into a large cotton evidence bag. “We’ll send this to the lab for confirmation but I’d say that’s what she was hit with. Poor lassie. And then whoever it was made sure she was dead. Thoroughly and totally dead.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “She was eighteen, Guff. Eighteen!”
C
LARE’S FLAT WAS ABOVE THE FORMER STABLES, NOW
being used for storage of furniture taken from the dowager house. She was waiting for Tyler at the top of the covered stairs that ran outside the building.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” she said, smiling. “I’m in here.”
She turned and led the way into the flat. She was wearing a pair of green silk trousers that flowed from her hips, and a halter top, which showed off the vertebrae of her neck and back. Her hair was piled on top of her head, and as she walked in front of him, she left a slight waft of a flowery scent on the air. He knew his pulse rate increased – from walking up the stairs, probably.
The flat reminded Tyler of a converted railway carriage. It was one long narrow space, no walls demarcating the different rooms except for one at the far end, behind which he guessed was the bathroom. A wicker screen partitioned off a space to the right, near the door, and through the slats, he could see a double bed.
“Dinner is almost ready.”
“Smells delicious.”
“Does it? Good. I’m afraid the place does still get a bit pungent on damp days even though the horses have long gone. There’s a fly swatter on that chair. If you can dispatch a few, I’d be most grateful.”
She continued on to a tiny galley kitchen. He dispatched several flies buzzing around the window.
“What do you want me to do with the corpses?”
“Knock them into the corner. I’ll sweep them up later. Sit down at the table. I’m almost ready.”
Even though she might be living above a converted stable, Clare’s cutlery and dishes would have been quite suitable for a posh stately home. The plates had gold rims; the knives and forks looked like silver, not plate. Flowers were arranged in a cut glass vase on the table. It was a far cry from the shabby restaurant.
She was stirring the gravy on the stove and she called to him over her shoulder. “Pour us some wine, will you? It’s not quite as good as we had last night, but it’s palatable.”
He did as she asked, pouring the red wine into crystal glasses as Clare came over to the table with a platter of meat. A roast of beef was surrounded with potatoes swimming in the juice from the meat. He was practically salivating from the mere sight.
“Help yourself. I’ll get the vegetables.”
She returned to the kitchen, spooned the carrots and peas into their respective covered vegetable dishes, and brought them to the table with the gravy boat.
He raised his glass. “Cheerio and pip, pip, dahling.”
She threw him a surprised glance and he chuckled.
“Sorry, can’t help it. It’s the furnishings. My diction is improving in sheer self-defence.”
“Everything belongs to Aunt Gwen. My things are all in Switzerland.”
“Does your husband mind that you are here and he’s over there?”
Clunk.
What had made him ask that?
“Not really.” She looked discomfited.
The next several minutes were spent with the typical dining rituals. She dished out the vegetables, asked how the meal was;
he exclaimed at the tenderness of the meat. But he cursed himself for the remark about her husband.
Couldn’t resist, could you, Tyler?
“Major Fordham made an announcement at the camp about Rose,” said Clare. “It really is quite dreadful. What is going on, Tom?”
“I wish I knew. It’s pretty certain she was killed in the woods, not too far from here. She was hidden somewhere and then moved back to the Fort. Much closer to town and not too far from where Elsie was found.”
Clare was toying with her food. “Funny how this sort of topic takes one’s appetite away.”
Tyler sliced through the beef and forked up some potatoes.
“I’m not so delicate. I’m not going to let this go to waste. But let’s change the subject. How did you get to be such a good cook?”
“Cooking classes in France. I actually don’t get much opportunity to practice.”
“Why is that? Do you only eat once a month?”
“Tom!”
“You don’t cook at home in Switzerland?”
“No, we have domestic help. Valentin has to entertain a lot and I certainly am not the kind of woman who can whip up a gourmet meal for ten or more, then dash upstairs and change into evening dress and deal with pompous boring men for hours. I would get the screaming meemies.”
“So you sacrificed the cooking part?”
“That’s right.”
“Perhaps it should be the other way around. You do the cooking you like so much and hire somebody to be the hostess.”
He’d tried to make his tone jocular, but she sighed. “We came back to that familiar place pretty quickly, didn’t we Tom?”
“ What do you mean?”
“Don’t play coy. You know exactly what I’m talking about. I didn’t choose to be born into gentry, albeit impoverished gentry.”
“You might not have chosen that at birth but you can choose what you do now. You could give it all up if you wanted to and live like a dairy maid in a cottage. A dairy maid, on the other hand, has not the choice to go and live in Switzerland where she could entertain guests with silver cutlery and fine china dishes.”
“Please don’t let’s quarrel, Tom. I was looking forward to making you a nice meal and the two of us having a pleasant time together catching up like old friends.”
“Sorry. It is a wonderful meal. Better than I’ve had in ages. I promise I won’t make any more cracks about your life of privilege.”
“Tom!”
“Joke. That was a joke.” He fished in his jacket pocket, took out the little tissue package, and put it on the table. “A gift for the hostess.”
“How did you know you’d be needing a peace offering?”
He didn’t answer, eager as a boy to see if she liked the present. She opened it with maddening slowness and revealed the scarf.
“Tom, it’s beautiful. Thank you so much.”
She draped the strip of silk around her neck. He’d been right about the colour. The blue-green of her eyes was intensified.
“Looks good on you.” He took her hand and brought her fingers to his lips. “Clare, I will never be just an old friend. If that’s what you want and expect, I’d better go home now.”
She tapped his nose. “You got too much sun, you’re peeling.”
“Sod that, woman. Are you going to kiss me or not?”
She blinked, jokingly. “Don’t you want your sweet? I made apple pie.”
“You’re all the sweet I need.”
She leaned toward him and her lips were everything he remembered.
T
HEY STAYED ON THE BED FOR A WHILE IN A POST-
coital languor. Finally, Clare propped herself on her elbow and regarded him. He was lying on his back.
“I told myself we wouldn’t do that. It probably wasn’t such a good idea.”
He pulled her head down to his and kissed her.
“Are you sorry?”
She broke away and rolled away from him.
“Tom, please, I’m serious. I can’t afford complications in my life right now. You’re married, I’m married.”
“Clare, I’m planning to leave Vera. We’ve been miserable for years. When I saw you again, I knew what a farce my marriage has been … and I can’t believe you love your husband. You don’t. I can tell.”
She got out of bed and picked up her robe. “I tell you what, Tom Tyler. I am going to use the loo and I want you to make us a pot of coffee while I do so. Then you can sit down on the couch, and keep your mouth shut, if that’s possible, and I will tell you all you want to know and have been fishing for ever since we ran into each other in the market. Is that a deal?”
“Sounds good to me. Don’t you want to know my story as well?”
“No. Not yet. Later maybe.”
He liked the “later” and grinned at her. “Go on then. Take your time. I’ll have my apple pie now.”
He went into the galley to make the coffee and cut up the pie. She didn’t take long and returned dressed, this time in a
pair of casual khaki shorts and an open-necked white shirt. She had tucked the silk scarf into the shirt.
“You’ve changed your clothes. Does that mean mission accomplished?” he asked her.
“No, Tom. It wasn’t like that. I, well, I just wanted to dress up for you.”
He wagged his finger at her, mockingly. “Come on, Clare. I’ve been seduced before. I can tell when a woman’s laying a trail.”
“I think that’s your conceit talking. What time should you be getting back, by the way?”
“Soon, but not until I’ve heard at least Part One. See I am going directly to the couch, and I will sit here and listen without a word.”
“I think I’d feel more comfortable if you got dressed.”
“I can listen even better if I’m naked.”
She picked up a pillow and threw it at him. “At least do me the courtesy of covering up your John Henry. It’s too distracting.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
But he plonked the cushion in his lap.
“I’m going to sit over here. I don’t trust you. Or myself.” She sat down in the chair opposite him. “All right, here goes. Once upon a time there was a little poor princess. In spite of a long, long pedigree, her family was very poor although they went to great pains to hide it. See, even you didn’t know that, did you?”
“I knew you weren’t rolling in money like your cousin Percy, but I was used to being with a crowd that didn’t have much either. I never noticed.”
“Hmm. Well, the princess had two very different parents who didn’t much like each other. Her father was kind but distant and took longer and longer absences from home until he
disappeared completely. Nobody explained this until she was older when she discovered he had, as the saying was, ‘taken up with another woman.’ The princess’s mother had never been very loving and this separation made her even more bitter. The princess was very fond of her father, although he was a scoundrel in the eyes of the world. She simply couldn’t switch her feelings. Every night, when she went to bed, her mother would say, ‘Make sure you ask God’s forgiveness for all your sins. Ask Him to melt your heart of ice.’ Eventually the poor little girl believed what her mother told her. She did have a heart of ice. She was like Miss Havisham’s Estelle.”
“And I suppose that makes me Pip with the thick boots.”
To his surprise, her eyes suddenly filled with tears. “Forgive me, Tom. Please don’t be angry. I didn’t mean that.”
He felt like a right piece of shite. He saw what he had truly never seen before, what that cool, collected demeanour was hiding.
“I apologize. Please go on.”
“All right.” She wasn’t looking at him now, running the fringe of the silk scarf through her fingers, the way he had done in the shop. Her voice was low. “The princess grew up, and one day she met a very wealthy man and she married him. Unfortunately, as it turned out, the man was wealthy because from an early age he had devoted himself to making money. He and the princess had nothing in common and within the year they were living virtually separate lives.” Clare dropped her shoulders. “I am of course talking about me and Valentin. After the first few months we had no intimate life. So … I took lovers –”
“Of course, why not,” said Tom, stung.
“Hush. Not many lovers, four to be exact. They were nice young men who were fun to be with and didn’t want anything more from me than a boisterous roll in the hay … and a little
money.” She stood up abruptly. “I need a proper drink. Do you want one?”
“I won’t say no to that. I need a little fortification.”
She went into the kitchen and returned with two crystal glasses. She splashed generous shots of brandy into each and handed one to Tom. She sat down again, holding the other glass in both of her hands. He took a gulp of the drink, watching her.
“We are now getting to the climax of the story,” she said with a wan smile. “You’d better take another drink of your brandy.”
Suddenly, they were both startled by the shrill ringing of the telephone.
“I’d better answer it,” said Clare.
She went into the living room and picked up the receiver.
“Clare Devereau here … Yes … yes, he’s here.” She held out the receiver to Tyler.
“It’s for you. It’s the station with an urgent call.”
G
OUGH WAS THE ONE WHO HAD CALLED
. H
E SAID HE
couldn’t talk over the phone but there had been an unexpected development in the Rose Watkins case and Tyler’s presence was urgently needed. Tyler had dressed, kissed Clare, and, declaring he would return that evening to hear the rest of her story, hurried to the car and drove off as fast the ancient vehicle could manage.
The sergeant was in the front office, and he greeted Tyler with great relief.
“I took the liberty of putting everything in your office, sir. I’ll get the constables concerned.”
He was so obviously het up that Tyler was afraid he’d find another corpse on his desk, but there was nothing except a shabby, black leather suitcase.
Gough came in, trailing behind him Constables Eagleton and Collis and one of the reservists, Stan Richards, a straight-backed former sergeant, now retired.
“Eagleton, tell the inspector exactly what you found.”
“This was in the woods, sir. It was buried not too far from where I found the hat and handbag.”
Tyler stared at the suitcase, which was covered with dirt and bits of leaves.
“How did you find it?”
“It was sheer chance, sir,” sputtered Collis. “I had to take a leak – I mean urinate, sir.”