The Killing of Olga Klimt (3 page)

‘Would I “adore” my time with you?'

‘Goodness. You
are
clever, aren't you?'

‘We read him your advertisement. That's how he learnt “adore”,' Antonia explained.

‘So that's my word, is it?'

‘Yes, it's your word. Adore.
Adore
.' Eddy yawned.

‘How funny! I'd completely forgotten!'

Must tell him it's rude to yawn, Antonia thought.

‘I must say I am terribly impressed by you, Eddy.' Miss Frayle leant forward slightly. ‘You said you could read and write, correct? Did your mummy and daddy teach you?'

‘Granny taught me,' Eddy said. ‘Granny is a writer.'

‘I know.' Fenella Frayle gave a solemn nod. She smiled at Antonia. ‘You must be very proud of your granny.'

‘Her books are in all the bookshops,' Eddy said. ‘In all the bookshops in the world.'

‘No, not in all the bookshops,' Antonia said. ‘Really, Eddy, I don't think you –'

‘My granny writes about murders. She is very clever. She notices things no one else notices. In Granny's books people get killed.'

‘I know. As a matter of fact I have read two of your granny's books. I enjoyed them very much indeed. I suppose you have read all her books?' Fenella Frayle said with a twinkle.

‘I haven't. Granny writes about
murders
. I am not allowed to read about
murders
.'

‘When you are a little older, you will,' Fenella Frayle said comfortably. ‘Well, I must say I don't get to meet many grannies who write books.'

‘Granny doesn't look like a granny, does she?'

‘Not in the least.'

‘That's what my grandfather says – he is not
really
my grandfather – he is my
step
-grandfather – he allows me to call him “Hugh” – he says he loves Granny in any and every state she happens to be in – especially when she is annoyed with him – he is very funny – he calls me a “fearful Jesuit”– because mummy is a Catholic, you see – Granny was married
twice
– Hugh married Granny after –'

‘That's enough, Eddy.' Antonia's manner was brisk.

‘You wrote little boys and girls would adore their time with you,' Eddy told Miss Frayle. ‘You wrote that they'd love the “home corner”. What is a home corner?'

As Fenella Frayle started explaining, Antonia's thoughts went back to the Sylvie & Bruno website. The Sylvie & Bruno Nursery School was renowned for its warm and friendly
environment. Children were nurtured by well-qualified and caring teachers and enthusiastic assistants. They were taught how to develop coordination, concentration and independence. They were carefully instructed on how to interact positively with a wide range of other children and adults before they were ready to move on to the wider environment of pre-prep.

Jolly impressive, Hugh had conceded – though he was not sure he cared for the sound of ‘pre-prep'.

At our nursery school your child is introduced to the fundamentals of early years education. To create a strong base for future learning, great importance is placed on literacy and numeracy. Children also begin French, music and PE. Sylvie & Bruno Nursery School is exceptionally well resourced. Sand and water play, the art and craft table, a computer corner and a construction area, all have an important part in the structure of our school
…

‘So you see, the home corner constantly changes from being a shop to a doctor's surgery, an estate agent's, a royal palace, even a jungle,' Miss Frayle was saying. ‘Something tells me you will like our jungle.'

Eddy frowned. ‘It's not with
real
animals, is it?'

‘I am afraid not. Our children love dressing up as bears and zebras and wolves and foxes. We have the most wonderful dressing-up box –'

‘No one dresses up as a
zebra
.' Eddy countered. ‘That would be
silly
.'

‘Eddy,' Antonia said admonishingly. Fenella Frayle's face had turned a little red.

He slid down his chair. ‘Can I look out of the window?' Without waiting for permission, he strode up to the picture window and stood looking out.

‘Eddy –'

‘No, that's all right, Miss Darcy. Let him. Bored, poor thing. I don't blame him,' Fenella Frayle said. ‘My fault, really. I do tend to go on, don't I?'

‘No, no,' Antonia protested. ‘Not at all.'

‘Oh, look, Granny! A man fell – another man catched him!' Eddy pointed excitedly. ‘I think he is dead!'

‘Caught him,' Antonia said automatically.

‘The man is dead!'

‘I don't think that's terribly likely … I'll be very annoyed if –! Where? You're making things up, aren't you?'

‘I am not, Granny –
look
!' Eddy pointed again. ‘The man is dead!'

Fenella Frayle joined Eddy and Antonia by the picture window. ‘He's right. I do believe someone's fainted in the street. I think they may need our help.'

Jevanny Lodge was a tall, square, red-brick house, built in the reign of Queen Anne. A stone-pillared porch had been added in the purer classical style of 1790; the windows of the house were many, tall and narrow, with small panes and thick white woodwork. A pediment, pierced with a round window, crowned the front. There were wings to right and left, connected by curious glazed galleries, supported by colonnades.

‘It looks like a fit. We’ll take him upstairs, Miss Thornton,’ Fenella Frayle told the teacher she had called, a freckled young woman whose physique suggested a gym mistress.

‘He is not epileptic, is he?’ Miss Thornton asked.

‘I have no idea. I hope not.’

‘Can I go with them?’ Eddy asked.

‘Certainly not.’ Antonia kept a restraining arm across her grandson’s chest.

‘Why not?’

‘It would be inappropriate.’

‘What does that mean?’ Eddy looked up at her.

‘It means you would be in the way.’

‘Will the man die?’

‘He may, if you go on asking questions.’

She needed to keep an eye on Eddy. He was bored. A minute earlier he had taken advantage of the disturbance; as soon as Miss Frayle had left the room, he had walked up to her desk and started examining the papers that lay on it. Antonia had had to call him back.

Miss Frayle’s office door had been left wide open. Antonia and Eddy stood beside it, looking at the little group in the hall, ranged round the base of the stairs.

‘Are the children OK?’ Fenella Frayle asked.

‘Overexcited,’ Patricia Thornton said. ‘They know something’s happened and they all want to be part of it. I left them in Frostbite’s care. I mean Lilian Frobisher.’

‘Good. Excellent. Poor fellow – can he walk or will we have to give him a piggyback?’

‘I am fine, really.’ Charles Eresby staggered between his manservant and Patricia Thornton. ‘I can walk. I feel a little better. It’s so hot.’

‘You are not epileptic, are you?’ Patricia Thornton asked.

‘I am not.’

‘You may be without knowing it.’

‘I am not.’

‘You haven’t got a dicky heart, have you?’ Fenella Frayle said.

‘No. My heart is fine. It’s broken but otherwise it’s fine.’

‘I’d hate it if you were to keel over and snuff it on the premises,’ Fenella said cheerfully. ‘We’d have to send the children home and the parents wouldn’t like it. You gave poor Eddy a great fright, you know – that clever little boy over there –’ She pointed towards the top of the stairs.

‘He didn’t give me a fright.’ Eddy’s eyes flashed indignantly.

‘He thought you were dead!’

Eddy glanced up at Antonia and mouthed, ‘I don’t like her.’

The dark man in the alpaca coat cleared his throat. ‘I am afraid Mr Eresby is not used to high temperatures.’

‘Oh, you know each other? What a relief. Jolly good. Makes all the difference. I took you for a Good Samaritan. I thought you were a casual passer-by.’

‘I am Mr Eresby’s manservant. My name is Bedaux.’

Antonia gazed at them curiously. Master and servant promenading
en plein air
? A rare phenomenon these days, surely, even in this part of London? Antonia had imagined that only people like Prince Charles had valets. The master, as far as she could see, was a delicately built young man dressed in a somewhat crumpled white linen suit. His hair was very fair and floppy. He was probably quite good-looking in a young-Anthony-Andrews-as-Lord-Sebastian-Flyte kind of way, but was at the moment deathly pale, and somewhat slack-mouthed … What was it he said? It was something curious …
It’s broken
… He’d meant his heart, which suggested his fainting fit might not be exclusively due to the heat …

Antonia’s attention shifted to the servant who was a tall dark man with an impassive face, immaculately dressed. A gentleman’s gentleman, eh? Clearly, they did exist … This one seemed to run to type … Was he really one of those chaps whose entire life, like that of the late Queen Mother, was based upon duty, obligation, discretion and restraint? Something monkish about him but the eyes were watchful and – what was it? – calculating? The eyes of a man who enjoys dice games for dangerous stakes … The eyes of a Machiavelli … I mustn’t let my imagination run away with me, Antonia reminded herself.

Beside her Eddy chanted under his breath, something that sounded like, ‘Aunt Clo-Clo must die, Aunt Clo-Clo must die’, but she paid no attention.

‘Are we ready? Let me go first – can Mr Eresby manage the stairs?’ The irrepressible Miss Frayle led the way up. ‘We normally have a resident nurse, but she phoned in sick this morning, now wasn’t that a nuisance? Would you like us to call an ambulance?’

‘It might be a good idea, to be on the safe side,’ Bedaux said.

‘No, thank you. No ambulance. No need. I’ll be all right,’ Charles Eresby countered. ‘I just want to sit down quietly for a bit. I need to clear my head, that’s all … I am frightfully sorry for being a nuisance.’

‘Not a bit of it … Can happen to anyone, even to the best of us … I felt a bit faint myself this morning … Here we are. Journey’s end.’ Fenella pushed open a door. ‘My cubbyhole … I call it my “snuggery” … How about a drop of brandy? Old-fashioned remedies are usually the best … You aren’t a teetotaller, are you? It’s a bit stuffy here … I’ll open the window, shall I?’

‘You are frightfully kind,’ Charlie said. ‘I already feel better.’

But the next moment he was seized with another giddy spell and once more he heard the sound of rushing water … The figures round him started moving in a nightmarish dance … He saw Bedaux and beefy Miss Thornton whirl round, they might have been waltzing … The super nanny in her blue suit and brooch started bobbing up and down like the piston of an old-fashioned steam engine …

Shutting his eyes, he allowed them to lead him to the sofa.

Our hostess is called Fenella Frayle and her sitting room is papered in sunny Georgian yellow – red chintz curtains hang from gilded pelmets at the windows – the large sofa is of a bright cobalt blue. Even on the dullest day, I imagine one would feel uplifted by the cheerful mix of colour and pattern, the sparkle of mirror and glint of glass. The overall effect is most envigorating.

Miss Frayle offers Mr Eresby a glass of sherry, which he accepts. It should have been brandy, but it turns out she has run out of brandy. Mr Eresby takes one tiny sip, then another. His eyes close. He coughs. Mr Eresby is not used to strong drink. He shouldn’t be drinking, really. Miss Frayle raises her eyebrows
at me and points to the sherry decanter. I politely decline. I remain standing, my hands behind my back. I preserve a sentry-like stillness. I am gratified to observe Mr Eresby’s cheeks turn a little pink.

‘Eresby, did you say?’ Miss Frayle says. ‘Unusual name. Any connection with Eresby’s Biscuits? Hope you don’t mind my asking? I believe they are defunct now, or are they?’

‘My father. My late father. He sold the company. That was ages ago. I was two at the time.’ Mr Eresby speaks haltingly. ‘I have no recollection of any of it. The biscuits do exist but they are called something else now.’

‘So you are the son of the man himself! How terribly exciting! My aunt used to love Eresby’s biscuits.’ Miss Frayle frowns slightly. I get the impression she doesn’t like her aunt.

Miss Thornton has left the room, but another youngish woman enters, whom Miss Frayle addresses as ‘Miss Cooper’. Miss Cooper appears to be Miss Frayle’s secretary. Miss Frayle asks her to stay with us, she then apologises, says she will be back soon and leaves the room.

Miss Cooper is thin and bespectacled and she is wearing an attractively patterned silk dress. She sits down beside the desk. Her dress rustles.

‘We are used to accidents here,’ she says. ‘You would never believe what happened last March. One evening it was very cold and we were sitting here, in this very room, reading by the fire. Suddenly we noticed a strange roaring coming from the chimney, then outside there were flames and sparks lighting up the sky like a beacon! Two fire engines and several gallons of water later, the danger was over, but Miss Frayle was sternly warned by the firemen that before we ever put a match to another fire, the chimney had to be relined.’

‘Did you hear that, Bedaux? Relined and sternly warned,’ Mr Eresby says. There are two bright spots on his cheeks. ‘This
is fascinating. We should have our chimneys relined and sternly warned as soon as possible, don’t you think?’

I hope he is not getting drunk.

I suspect the main reason for Miss Cooper’s presence is to ensure that we don’t get up to any mischief. We are, after all, strangers. For all Miss Frayle knows, we may be a pair of confidence tricksters specialising in gaining entry into respectable households under false colours and relieving them of any valuable objects. Mr Eresby’s fainting fit could have been no more than a charade, his deathly pallor the result of some artfully applied make-up.

Miss Cooper asks whether Mr Eresby would like to glance at
The Times
. He says he would like to die.