As if by Magic (23 page)

Bill Rackham gaped at him. ‘Are you sure,' Jack?'

‘Of course I'm damn well sure,' said Jack unhappily. ‘When I was at the Lassiters' for lunch on Sunday I knew I'd missed something but I couldn't place what it was. I still haven't got to the bottom of it. There's something else I've missed but what, I don't know.' He sighed. ‘Anyway, I've checked with the theatre. You'd better do the same, of course. The only time Stephanie Granger hasn't appeared in
Hurry Along!,
the only time her understudy has been on in the entire London run of the show, was the night of 31st October, the performance Isabelle and I saw, the performance Anne Lassiter saw, and the night Culverton was murdered.'

‘And the night Anne Lassiter stated she was with Mrs Culverton in her flat in Kensington.' Rackham shook his head in disbelief. ‘Hold on a minute.' He crossed the room to a filing cabinet, rummaged in the drawer and produced a manila folder. ‘I've got both Mrs Lassiter's and Mrs Culverton's statements here.' He flipped open the folder and found what he was looking for. ‘This is Mrs Culverton's.
Called on Anne Lassiter at Eden Street . . . went to my flat together . . . had dinner . . . Anne stayed with me until about half past twelve.
Let's see what Anne Lassiter has to say for herself.
Dined in the flat with Peggy
. . .
stayed with her all evening . . . took a taxi home after midnight.'
He looked up, his lips a thin line. ‘Can you credit it? I believed them. I believed the pair of them and all the time they were stringing me along. It's a service flat; there are no servants to say if they were there or not.' He pushed his chair away from the desk and walked angrily round the room. ‘All we had was their word and I took it. Damn it, Jack, I told you Mrs Culverton looked pleased that her husband had died.'

‘I can hardly blame her for that,' said Jack.

Rackham's face twisted. ‘Neither can I, knowing what we do about him.' He leaned his elbow on the filing cabinet, drumming his fingers on the metal. ‘Those injuries were savage, Jack, and she hated him, right enough. She's made no secret of the fact.' He rubbed his hand though his hair. ‘There's a lot we don't understand about this, though, an awful lot.' He sighed. ‘I'll get on to the theatre and then I'd better go and see her. This isn't going to be pleasant.'

Jack glanced at his watch. ‘She'll be on her way to the Lassiter factory by now for the press presentation.'

Rackham clicked his tongue in annoyance. ‘I don't want to interrupt that. It's going to be difficult enough without having most of Fleet Street watching my every move. I'll see her and Mrs Lassiter this evening.'

Jack got up. ‘I'll have to go, Bill. I've been invited to the factory too. I'm taking George in the Spyker.' He winced. ‘I'm not looking forward to meeting either Mrs Culverton or Anne Lassiter there, knowing what I do. Damn it, I
like
Anne Lassiter, and Mrs Culverton must have gone through hell. I think she's a remarkable woman.' He looked thoroughly unhappy. ‘If it wasn't for knowing you, I might have kept quiet about Anne's broken alibi.'

‘I can understand that,' said Rackham seriously. ‘But look, Jack, you mustn't reproach yourself. You haven't broken any confidences or let anyone down. Anne Lassiter told an outright lie. I want to know why.' He gave his friend an appraising look. ‘You won't drop any hints, will you? I know you feel torn, but it's not your fault she didn't tell the truth. She might look as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth but that's obviously not so. As for Mrs Culverton, I always knew she was capable of hiding her feelings. I don't know what either of them would do if they realized we'd tumbled to it, but there's a chance that Mrs Culverton might do a runner. She's got enough money to be able to disappear anywhere the fancy takes her.'

‘Do you really think she'd do that?'

‘She might, if it's a choice between that or being arrested. I've got a healthy respect for her resourcefulness.'

‘I'll be careful,' promised Jack.

‘Good man. By the way,' added Rackham, walking with Jack to the door, ‘you know you said that dancer at the Continental recognized the photo of Culverton you showed her? Well, we've questioned her and she said she did recognize him, but on reflection she thinks it must have been because his picture was in the paper. She's right as far as that goes. The photo you've got is the same one we issued to the press.'

‘D'you think she knew him apart from that? She seemed pretty startled when I produced the photo. She didn't like it.'

‘No, she said she didn't. She wondered what your game was, if you were a reporter or someone trying to stir up trouble.' Rackham shrugged. ‘I can't prove she's wrong. And the Continental seems all right, Jack. We've checked it.'

‘Yes,' agreed Jack thoughtfully, putting on his coat. ‘Which is frustrating, isn't it, Bill? Where the devil is this club?'

‘I only wish I knew. We haven't had a sniff of it.'

‘That's odd, isn't it? I mean, they must get their clients from somewhere. How does anyone know it exists?'

‘Invitation only? It must be a very select group indeed.'

Jack shuddered. ‘Don't. That makes it more creepy than ever.' He picked up his hat. ‘I'll let you know if anything interesting happens this afternoon.'

With George beside him, Jack nosed the Spyker through the lodge gates of the factory and the lodge-keeper directed them to the main building where a workman, dressed in what were obviously his best clothes, escorted them into the building.

‘I've heard how hard everyone's been working to get the Pegasus ready,' said Jack.

‘I've never known anything like it, sir,' said the workman earnestly. ‘It's been worth it, though. Wait till you see the plane, sir. She's a rare beauty.'

Although George had said, casually enough, that Anne Lassiter ‘had arranged all the social side of things', neither of them had any idea of the scale of the preparations.

Production had been stopped for the day and the inside street that ran the length of the factory was virtually unrecognizable. Where workmen usually trundled cargoes of aeroplane parts, tables, white with shining cloths and glinting with silver dishes and ice-buckets with green gold-topped bottles, stood waiting. The factory wasn't full, but the crowd was very select indeed, thought Jack. Samuel Hoare, the air minister, was among a group of black-coated men standing round old Mr Lassiter, and there were other faces he knew from the newspapers.

Most of the hands had been given a very welcome day off, whilst a carefully picked selection of the workforce stood by their machines, ready to answer any questions that might occur to the guests. Howgrave and Cheriton, the leading London caterers, had transformed the street with flowers and decorations. Waiters weaved their way respectfully through the crowd of fur-coated, cloche-hatted women and morning-suited men, ensuring that no glass was unfilled and no plate empty. Lassiter's were really pushing the boat – or should that be flying-boat? thought Jack – out in style. The swell of noise rose, and under the high glass roof, glistening with the autumn sun, the factory resembled a Soviet poster of Ideal Labour mixed up with a society ball in a conservatory.

Anne Lassiter was standing halfway down the factory, flanked by Roger Maguire and Stella Aldryn, chatting animatedly to a group of pressmen. Jack recognized Joe Hawley of
Aviation Monthly,
Freddie Talbot of
Modern Flight
and Eric Laing of
Twentieth Century Transport
amongst them.

‘Anne's terrific,' said George quietly to Jack as they walked through the crowd towards her. ‘It was her idea to make this more like a party, rather than just a press event. She must have worked like a galley slave to bring it all off and yet you'd never guess to hear her talk. I'm not surprised my grandfather thinks the world of her, you know. So does David.' Jack privately winced. ‘She's tried to get Grandfather to see sense about Stella. He listens to Anne, you know, but it's an uphill struggle.'

‘Has he said anything to you?' asked Jack. He didn't know and, even as he asked the question, he was surprised he didn't know. That showed, more than anything, the barrier that had sprung up between them in the last few days.

George nodded. ‘Didn't I mention it? My grandfather made a couple of pointed remarks when he joined David and me in the billiard room on Sunday. He wasn't happy.' He looked at Anne and sighed. ‘Anne's made an effort to get to know Stella.' A waiter stopped beside them and they took a glass of champagne each. ‘I don't see why my grandfather shouldn't come round. She's a corker, you know, Jack.'

‘Who? Miss Aldryn?'

‘No, Anne, I mean. Roger Maguire's a lucky devil. I wonder if he knows how lucky he is?'

Anne Lassiter caught sight of them. ‘Come and join us,' she said cheerfully and Jack, who was feeling like an absolute heel, managed a smile. Looking at Anne, with her expression of sincere friendliness, it was hard to believe she'd made a deliberately false statement. Damn it, what was wrong with everyone? The most trustworthy people seemed to be able to lie like troopers without turning a hair and she wasn't suffering from delusions, that was for sure. He knew that if he tried to speak to her at that moment he would give something away so, with an abruptness that made George look at him very oddly, he turned and made a point of talking to Freddie Talbot. ‘What sort of press are you giving Lassiter's?' he asked.

Talbot, glass of champagne in hand, shrugged. ‘So far, so good, if I was writing about food and drink, but I'm here to see the aeroplane. I'll say this, all the right people have been invited. Did you see Hoare? It's quite a coup getting him here, and there's Gilbert Sanderson of London and Colonial, as well as Sir Samuel Instone. Instone Air Lines might go for it. This India idea isn't so bad if the Pegasus lives up to the publicity. I want to see the plane put through its paces, though. I gathered from the grapevine that should have happened today but it's had to be put off until next week. It'd help if Nigel Lassiter could make an appearance. He hasn't shown up yet.' There was a buzz in the crowd and Talbot glanced round. ‘Hello, where's Joe Hawley off to? Blow me, if that isn't Lassiter himself.' He slugged down the rest of his champagne. ‘S'cuse me, Jack,' and taking out his notebook, he joined the rest of the pressmen who had formed an eager circle round Nigel at the door.

Anne, suddenly deprived of conversation, glanced round. Stella Aldryn, having claimed George, was talking exclusively to him, so that left only Maguire and Jack in the immediate vicinity. ‘Perhaps we'd better mingle with the other guests, Roger,' she said, looking round the room. The only guest who was alone was a stout, middle-aged man by the table, ladling down food together with generous amounts of champagne. ‘I suppose I should go and have a word with Mr Ridge way,' said Anne unenthusiastically.

‘I didn't think you liked him,' said Maguire.

‘I don't much but I'd better be polite.' She looked at George. ‘He's Nigel's chief investor after Culverton's and, consequently, a very important person. He's a senior partner in Croft and Ridgeway, the merchant bankers.'

George detached his arm from Stella's. ‘I'll come with you, Anne.'

‘Me too,' said Jack, trying to make up for his earlier curtness.

Anne gave them a glance of gratitude and led them over to the table. Mr Ridgeway looked up expectantly.

‘Hello, Mr Ridgeway,' said Anne politely. ‘You know Dr Maguire, of course, but I'd like to introduce you to Miss Stella Aldryn, Nigel's confidential clerk. This is Mr George Lassiter and his friend, Major Haldean.'

Ridgeway dabbed his bulldog jowls with his napkin. ‘Pleased to meet you. I must say, Mrs Lassiter, this is excellent champagne. Excellent.' He looked at the men. ‘Nigel Lassiter tells me this project will transform aviation. It sounds a magnificent achievement. Quite outstanding.' His enthusiasm, Jack noticed, didn't animate his face. Martin Ridgeway leaned forward confidentially to George. ‘You're a Lassiter, eh? As a member of the family, sir, you are in a privileged position to know what sort of return can be expected on the project.' Now that did animate him, Jack noticed, seeing how the small, shrewd eyes lit up. ‘I would like to know what interest has been expressed by the commercial air companies.'

George looked blank and Anne stepped into the breach. ‘The best person to ask about future sales is Nigel himself, Mr Ridgeway. Unless Miss Aldryn knows anything?'

Martin Ridgeway glanced at Stella Aldryn, then, his eyes widening, gave her the benefit of his full attention. He looked her up and down slowly, with an expression amounting to a leer. The colour sprang up in Anne's face, Maguire frowned in disapproval and George, two white spots on his cheeks, curled his hands into fists.

Jack felt as if someone had drenched him with cold water. He knew that expression and he knew those eyes, those lascivious, cold, appraising, Holbein eyes. The face was different but this man was essentially the same sort as Alexander Culverton.

The leer broadened. ‘I can't believe that such a pretty young thing likes to bother her head about such dull matters as sales, eh, my dear?'

Of all the people present, Stella Aldryn seemed to be the only one not to realize what was so evidently passing through Ridgeway's mind. She was either completely innocent or completely dumb, thought Jack. Whatever the reason, he mentally applauded her tact.

‘I'm afraid you're right, Mr Ridgeway,' she said affably, ‘Mr Nigel Lassiter's the person that you have to speak to.' She glanced across the factory. ‘He's engaged at the moment but he'll be happy to see you once he's free.'

‘I'm sure Mr Ridgeway can speak to Nigel in his own time,' said George stiffly, drawing her away. He nodded his head abruptly. ‘Pleased to meet you,' he said, curtly and quite untruthfully.