Devil in Disguise (32 page)

Lilia
suppressed a girlish giggle. ‘Put that away now Heathcliff You’re not her
type.’

The
policeman looked at Molly, nonplussed. ‘There’s an offensive weapon if ever I
saw one,’ she said.

‘I’ll
be back in a moment with some tea, then,’ said Molly, and left the room. While
the kettle boiled she slipped into the garden and lit a cigarette, drawing the
smoke deep into her lungs and holding it there for a few satisfying seconds
before exhaling luxuriously, closing her eyes. It was almost half past five in
the morning and the shock of the last traumatic hour was only just beginning to
hit her.

Poor
Lilia. It would be impossible for Molly to leave in the morning as she had
planned. And it dawned on her that as she was only going at Joey’s behest, the
reason for her departure had expired with him. Had his dislike of her
distressed him to such a degree that it had precipitated his death? Was it her
fault?

She
stubbed out her cigarette in the now-overflowing flowerpot ashtray and returned
to the kitchen to make the tea. She heard one of the ambulance men open the
front door and greet what must be the doctor before their footsteps moved to
the bedroom. There were now seven people in the bungalow, but the teapot held
enough for four cups. Too bad, she thought, but it was Lilia who mattered. She
put just three cups on the tray and carried it back into the lounge.

Heathcliff
was now sitting up, looking a bit grumpy, while the policewoman was eyeing him
warily as she sat on the sofa beside Lilia, who was leafing through a
photograph album. ‘And this is Joey and me on our honeymoon. See what a
strapping man he once was. You can hardly recognise him.’

‘That’s
your husband?’ said Gail, disbelievingly, as Molly put the tray on the table
and began to pour the tea. ‘It must have been a very severe stroke he
suffered.’

‘Oh, it
was,’ said Lilia. ‘Like popping a balloon. I was left with a shrivelled bit of
skin in comparison with how he used to be.’

‘It
doesn’t seem possible that he was that tall,’ said Gail.

‘Your
tea, Lilia,’ said Molly, holding out a steaming porcelain cup and saucer.

‘I
think, after all, a spot of brandy, for medicinal purposes,’ said Lilia, waving
away the proffered beverage. ‘Gail can have that.’

Molly
swung her arm towards the WPC who held up her hand by way of refusal. ‘Thank
you, but no tea for me,’ she said.

‘I’ll
have it, then,’ Molly said, with a sigh. She was raising the cup to her lips
when Lilia spoke.

‘Whenever
you’re ready with that brandy,’ she said impatiently. ‘Someone has just lost a
husband here.’

‘Oh,
sorry, Lilia,’ said Molly, putting her cup down so suddenly that some tea
sloshed over the side into the saucer. She darted across to the Chinese cabinet
and poured a generous amount of Courvoisier into a brandy balloon. It made a
rich, glugging noise.

Lilia
pointed out another photograph to Gail. ‘And here is Joey competing in the 1948
Olympics. He was so proud of this picture! I didn’t know him then, of course.
He won a gold in the javelin.’

‘Very
handsome, very athletic,’ she said, studying the picture.

‘I
never knew that about Joey, God love him,’ said Molly, returning with the
brandy for Lilia.

‘We had
to sell the medals to pay for his hoist,’ said Lilia, sadly.

Just
then the lounge door opened and a middle-aged Indian man entered. He smiled
kindly at Lilia. ‘Are you the deceased’s wife?’ he asked. Lilia nodded and took
a sip of brandy. ‘I am Dr Jabir,’ he said. ‘I am so sorry.’ He bowed
respectfully. ‘I have completed the death certificate. You may go through and
be with him now, if you’d like to.’

Lilia
looked bewildered.

‘It
sometimes helps,’ said WPC Jones. ‘But you don’t have to if you don’t want to.’

‘I
don’t think I could bear it. I’m sorry,’ said Lilia, gulping her brandy, then
pressing her free hand to her forehead. She handed her glass to Gail and
dissolved into sobbing again.

‘Of
course,’ said Dr Jabir. ‘Then perhaps I might have a word with you, miss?’ He
looked at Molly. ‘I understand you were present when the death was discovered.’

Molly
followed the doctor into the hall. ‘Was it his heart?’ she asked.

‘Are
you the resident carer?’ he asked her.

Molly
didn’t know how to reply. ‘I’ve been staying here to help Lilia,’ she said at
last. ‘She did a fantastic job of looking after Joey but, to be honest, it was
getting a bit much for her, so I helped as far as I could.’

Dr
Jabir nodded sympathetically. ‘It is an increasing problem for the elderly. I
see so many cases where they are too proud to ask for help.’

‘It
would be a comfort to Lilia to know that he died in his sleep. He didn’t
suffer, just drifted away.’

‘Er,
yes,’ said the doctor. ‘It looks like a fairly straightforward case of heart
failure to me. How was the deceased’s health?’

‘Not
good,’ Molly said gravely. ‘He had a stroke a few years ago and was left
completely incapacitated by it. He’s required full-time care and feeding since
then. He’s always looked terribly frail, I must say.’

The
doctor nodded. ‘Yes, that makes sense. I’m happy to fill out the death
certificate with heart failure as the cause. I really don’t want to give Mrs
Delvard any more distress than is necessary, but—’ He stopped.

‘What
is it?’ asked Molly.

‘I just
wondered if the dog slept in this room — more specifically, on the bed.’

‘Yes,
Heathcliff often sleeps there. Why?’

‘There
are an awful lot of dog hairs around the deceased, that’s all. All over the
pillow and even some in his mouth.’

‘Yes, I
noticed that when I was giving him mouth-to-mouth,’ Molly said, frowning.

‘Hmm.’
The doctor shrugged. ‘Well, it doesn’t have any bearing on the death. It’s
quite clear as far as I can see. Here is a copy of the death certificate. You
may ring the undertaker whenever you wish.’

‘Thank
you, Doctor,’ Molly said.

‘Now, I
shall have a quick with word with our paramedic friends and then join you in
the other room.’

When
Molly returned to the lounge, Lilia was showing WPC Jones her scrapbook.

‘This
is me with Noël Coward at his country estate in Kent. He wrote a song about me,
called “Alice Is At It Again”. Most amusing. And here I am with Princess Grace
of Monaco. Such an elegant woman. She left me some trinkets in her will, but of
course I never received them. Perhaps you could investigate for me.’

‘The
Monaco police would be the ones to contact about that,’ said Gail, a slight
weariness creeping into her voice, ‘and I’d better go and see my colleague, if
you’ll excuse me. Molly is back now.’

‘Good,’
said Lilia. ‘Maybe another small brandy wouldn’t be too much trouble?’

The
policewoman stood up, brushed down her uniform and nodded at Molly before
leaving the room.

‘Such a
nice woman,’ said Lilia. ‘Quite engrossed in my old pictures and cuttings, she
was.’

‘How
are you feeling, Lilia?’ asked Molly, passing her a replenished glass of
Courvoisier.

‘You
cannot imagine,’ she said dispassionately. ‘I am quite lost. I have nothing. No
one. My life is over now, I am undone …’

There
was a tap on the door and WPC Jones came back in, followed by Steve and Dr
Jabir. ‘We’ll be on our way,’ said Steve, and Heathcliff immediately stood up
and stared at the ambulance man, as if he might pounce.

‘No,
Heathcliff Sit down,’ said Lilia, sharply, and the dog reluctantly rested on
his haunches. His eyes remained fixed on Steve, who moved back towards the
door.

Dr
Jabir stepped forward. ‘I’d like you to get some rest, if possible. You’ve had
a very nasty shock. Would you like a sedative to help you sleep?’

‘I
would not,’ said Lilia, proudly. ‘Molly is here. She is all the comfort I
require.’ She looked at Molly. There was a pause infused with expectation.

‘Er, of
course,’ said Molly, aware that all eyes were upon her. ‘I’m not going
anywhere.’

‘Good,’
said Lilia. ‘I have witnesses.’

‘I’ll
telephone your GP in the morning and I’m sure he will be in touch,’ concluded
the doctor. ‘I am so sorry for your loss.’

WPC
Jones said, ‘And I’ll be contacting our bereavement-support officer. She will—’

‘That
will not be necessary,’ interrupted Lilia. ‘Thank you for the offer.’ She
reached out and squeezed Molly’s hand. ‘We will look after each other. Good
morning to you, gentlemen, Miss Jones.’

It was
almost seven o’clock by the time they had all left Kit-Kat Cottage, and a new
day was dawning.

‘I
suppose it is an unusual time to go to bed, but that is what we should do. I
know that would be my mother’s suggestion — her solution to any problem.’

‘If
that’s what you’d like to do,’ said Molly, ‘let me help you. We can call the
undertaker later.’

‘I cannot sleep in that
bed, not with poor Joey still there. Do you mind if I come in with you?’

‘No, of
course not,’ said Molly, aware that she couldn’t refuse under the
circumstances. ‘You go to bed and I’ll tidy up. Is there anyone you’d like me
to contact?’

‘Yes,
there is,’ said Lilia. ‘Could you contact me?’

‘What
do you mean?’ asked Molly, confused by the question.

‘I
mean, Pd like a bit of contact. Come and lie down with
me
and be there
for
me.
For a couple of hours, at least. I need to feel the presence of
the living, not the emptiness of the dear departed.’

Molly
put her arm round Lilia and helped her up. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘of course I’ll
come with you.’

Ten
minutes later they lay side by side on their backs in Molly’s bed, staring at
the ceiling. Heathcliff lay across their legs, pinning them down with his hefty
frame. Only he snored. Every now and then one of them would sigh.

‘Poor
Joey,’ said Lilia, quietly. ‘Gone on his way. Wandered off like a restless tom
cat.’

‘On to
the next life,’ said Molly, philosophically.

‘Where
I hope he will be able to walk and talk.’

‘Or
fly,’ said Molly, dreamily.

‘Perhaps
he’ll be reincarnated as an albatross. That would suit him. He’s had plenty of
practice, after all.’

‘Or a
golden eagle,’ said Molly, closing her eyes and imagining a magnificent bird
soaring into the air, free and wild and beautiful. ‘He’s free at last.’

The
next few days were occupied with organising the funeral. Lilia was paralysed
with grief, so Molly took care of the arrangements. ‘Should I alert the
Olympics committee that Joey has passed on? ‘she asked Lilia. ‘Only I’m sure
they’d want to honour him in some way. He was a gold medallist, after all.
There’s bound to be an obituary in
The Times.
There may even be a
mention on the news. I expect some officials would like to attend and pay their
respects.’

‘Please
don’t,’ said Lilia. ‘I am very weak and the thought of all that fuss, the
press, the phone calls from Buckingham Palace and the prime minister — it is
too much.’

‘Well,
what about friends from the old days? I expect you and Joey knew so many people
from your glamorous past. This would be the perfect opportunity to get in touch
with them all again. I’m sure they’d like to pay their last respects.’

‘No,’
said Lila firmly. ‘I can’t face it. Let my Joey slip quietly into oblivion.
That is what he would want, and what he had, in many senses, already achieved.’

In the end, there were
only six people at the crematorium for Joey’s service, which took place a week
after his death. Molly had felt she must invite someone else, so she’d asked
Roger, who brought along his partner Freddie, a well-dressed but elderly
gentleman who walked with a stick.