As if by Magic (29 page)

‘Roger might have mentioned it to him.'

‘Roger!' He frowned at the bowl of his pipe. ‘Anne, I know it's not really any of my business but I'm not sure about Maguire.' He gave her a sidelong, diffident look. ‘Are you certain he's the right bloke for you? You know I care.' He glanced down at her. ‘Don't bite my head off, will you?'

She smiled. ‘No, I won't do that.' Her expression became wistful. ‘David, I just don't know about Roger. When I'm with him it's all right but when he's not here . . . I don't know.'

‘How d'you mean?' asked David curiously.

‘He gets his own way,' said Anne. ‘He always will.' She sighed in exasperation. ‘The truth is I'm attracted to him, but I don't honestly know how much I can trust him. He's older than I am, quite a bit older, and sometimes I wonder if that's a problem. He seems to know so much that I don't. He's clever and sophisticated and can be very good company but I never feel I understand him. He's a very different sort to Thomas.'

David smiled. ‘Thomas was the goods, wasn't he? I miss him.' He stopped as he saw the expression on her face. ‘Sorry. So do you, I know that.' He concentrated on his pipe again. ‘I tell you who reminds me of him,' he said eventually. ‘George. They're very different people but there's something about George which makes me think of him. They were cousins, after all, even if they never knew each other. If Thomas had lived I bet they'd have hit it off tremendously. George is . . .' He cast round for the right words. ‘He's
reliable
.'

‘I know exactly what you mean,' said Anne.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. ‘Well?'

She wriggled impatiently. ‘It's difficult. When I think of Roger it's so difficult.'

David leaned forward earnestly. ‘Don't make a mistake, Anne. That sort of mistake is so very hard to put right. Peggy made a mistake and she spent a long time regretting it.'

‘Peggy thinks the world of you, David,' said Anne softly. ‘I always knew she did, even though she never said a word.' She paused. ‘It's a shame you couldn't keep things to yourself for a bit longer though. She's right about what the police would think. I'm sorry we saw you that day at the factory.'

‘So am I,' he agreed ruefully. ‘Peggy keeps everything bottled up but she was pretty close to cracking that day. Gilchrist Lloyd had warned her that the firm was in a bad way and she's convinced that Haldean suspects me of doing in Culverton. I think she's wrong, but she's very wary of him.'

Anne bit her lip. ‘I think she's wrong about Major Haldean, too. He likes you, David, that's obvious.'

‘Well, I like him. I told Peggy as much. I appreciate what he's done for George and there's no doubt about it, he saved George's life at the factory. That was a stunning piece of work.' He grinned. ‘Have you read any of his stories? They're clever and sharp, just like him. The only thing which makes me think a bit is that he's hand-in-glove with the police. He's a good man, though. If I was up against it, I'd like to have him on my side.' He gave a humourless laugh. ‘Peggy's not convinced. As she says, we're the only people who seem to have had any sort of motive for killing Culverton. She doesn't trust him.'

Anne gave a sigh. ‘I wonder if we'll ever find out who did kill him. Have you any ideas?'

David's face was strained. ‘No. To be honest, it's getting to me a bit.' He struck a match and lit his pipe. ‘I loathed Culverton. He made Peggy's life hell and even now he's dead he's still a problem. He's the reason I don't want the guv'nor to know about how things are with Peggy. In ordinary circumstances he'd be delighted but it's this appalling situation with the police that's the problem.'

The telephone rang in the hall. Anne got up to answer it, then sat down again as the bell stopped. Nigel's voice came through the partly open door as he answered the phone. Anne looked stricken. ‘I hope he didn't hear us,' she said quietly.

David shrugged. ‘It doesn't matter if he did.' He was about to say more when Nigel let rip with a string of obscenities at the top of his voice. The words were foul. David exchanged a quick, startled glance with Anne and Nigel swore again.

‘What the devil's got into him?' demanded David. He strode to the door and swung it open. ‘Nigel! What d'you mean talking like that? The whole house can hear you.'

Nigel slammed the earpiece back on its rest and faced his brother. ‘Talk? Hellfire, I'd like to do more than talk! That was Mrs Culverton. Do you know what's happened?'

David gazed at him. ‘Do you mean to tell me you used language like that to
Mrs Culverton
?'

‘Yes, to your precious Mrs Culverton. She wanted to tell us that idiot, Ridgeway, has topped himself. It's in the papers. He's dead, d'you hear me, dead! What the blazes do we do now, I ask you?'

David swallowed. ‘You swore at
Mrs Culverton
?'

‘Yes, damn it, I swore at Mrs bloody Culverton. So what? Can't you hear what I'm telling you? Ridgeway's dead. My God, David, you'll have to do something now. I need money, d'you hear me? Why don't you speak to her? You can get anything you like out of her. You'll have to lean on her but you can do it, right enough. Roger saw you the other day. You've got her eating out of your hand. If you had any sense you'd get hold of the bloody woman and –'

David's fist shot out, catching Nigel squarely on the mouth. Nigel, flung back by the blow, crashed into the hall table. The table, which held a vase of flowers, went over in a smash of breaking china. The noise seemed to stretch indefinitely, then there was silence broken only by the dripping of water. Nigel, sprawled amongst the wreckage of the vase and spilt flowers, raised himself on his hands and knees, blood swelling from a cut lip. He put the back of his hand to his mouth, gazing at the blood on his hand, thunderstruck. Then, with a murderous glint in his eye, he gathered himself for a spring.

‘No!' shrieked Anne. She prepared to fling herself between the two men when the doorbell rang. All three of them turned to look as Corby, who had obviously been close at hand, trod majestically into the hall, stepping through the broken china to the door.

As if absolutely nothing was amiss, he turned from the opened door.

‘Dr Maguire, sir,' he announced. ‘For you, Mr Nigel.' He coughed. ‘Are you at home, sir?'

‘Of course I'm bloody well at home,' growled Nigel, pushing past him. ‘Come in, Roger. Corby, get that mess cleared up. Roger, go into the drawing room. Have you heard? Ridgeway's dead.'

‘That's what I came to tell you,' said Maguire, looking at the shattered vase on the floor. ‘What happened?'

‘Nothing,' said Nigel quickly, wiping his mouth. ‘Nothing much, anyway.' Maguire took off his hat and coat and gave them to the waiting butler. ‘Go into the drawing room, Roger. I need to talk to you.'

Maguire looked at Anne. ‘I'll see you later. I really think I'd better go and talk to Nigel.'

Nigel walked past David who was standing, a stunned expression on his face, gazing at his fist.

Anne touched David on the arm. She wanted to get him away, out of the hall. ‘David? Why don't we go into the billiard room?'

‘The billiard room?' He drew his hand across his forehead. ‘Yes, if you want to.' Although he didn't argue, he didn't move. Anne touched his arm once more to guide him away when the door to the drawing room opened and Nigel came out again.

‘Maguire wants to speak to both of us. Not you,' he said curtly as Anne came forward. ‘David, I mean.' David looked at him blankly. ‘We have to talk. Ridgeway's death has upset the apple-cart good and proper.' David still didn't move. ‘For God's sake, man,' snarled Nigel. ‘We're still in business and we still have a firm to run.'

David took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders and walked into the drawing room.

As arranged, Bill Rackham called for Jack and George at seven o'clock that evening. ‘You've a treat in store,' said Rackham to George as they turned into Trafalgar Square. Lassiter, decided Rackham, looked normal enough and he decided to give him the benefit of the doubt for the time being. ‘I think the Young Services does one of the best curries in London. Do you mind walking? I've been stuck behind a desk all day and could do with some exercise.'

‘It suits me,' said George. ‘Mind you,' he added, huddling into his coat as the wind bit through him, ‘I think London has some of the lousiest weather I've ever encountered. If it's not raining or foggy, it's freezing cold.' They walked down Pall Mall and turned right on to St James's Street, their steps ringing in the quiet streets, past the elegant houses with their pillared steps and porticoed doors, white against the soot-blackened brick.

‘I see Nigel Lassiter's causing a bit of a stir with his arrangements for Friday night,' said Rackham. ‘The River Police have given him permission to land on the Thames between Waterloo and Blackfriars Bridge. There should be quite a crowd to watch him.'

‘Yes, the
Messenger
called it a moment of history,' said Jack. ‘I'd call it a miracle, granted what's gone on behind the scenes,' he added with a grin.

‘Absolutely,' agreed George, laughing. ‘I spoke to Stella on the phone earlier and she says that Nigel's working fit to bust and his temper's gone to pot. He'll have a nervous breakdown if he carries on like this. I don't know how she stands the man.'

‘Did you ever get to the bottom of what he said to her that day?' asked Jack. George shook his head. ‘It was at the factory, at the press presentation,' explained Jack in answer to Rackham's enquiring look.

‘What, where you saw the cat on the roof?'

‘That's right,' said Jack evenly with a slight warning frown at Rackham. ‘After George was safe and we were on terra firma again, Nigel turned on Stella Aldryn and called her a “bloody fool”.'

‘That's a bit rich,' said Rackham in shocked disapproval. ‘He shouldn't use language like that to a woman. It's not on, especially as she works for him.'

‘That's exactly what I said,' agreed George. ‘It's unfair, isn't it? She can't answer him back properly.'

‘What on earth was he talking about?' asked Rackham. ‘In what way had she been a fool?'

‘That's what we can't work out,' said Jack. ‘Neither George nor I could make head or tail of it.' He turned to his friend for confirmation but George had stopped a few paces behind. ‘George?'

‘Hold on a minute, Jack,' called George. They were on the corner of St James's Street and St James's Place. The house – a very aristocratic house – had steps up to the front door and a balcony on the first floor. The house was surrounded by elaborate wrought-iron railings and flanked by Portland stone pillars topped by lamp standards. To Jack and Rackham's utter astonishment, George ran up the steps and, using the stonework for support, scrambled to the top of the railings.

‘What the devil . . .?' Jack and Rackham walked back. ‘George, get down,' said Jack.

George smiled at them. ‘It's all right. I won't be a tick.' He frowned up at the underside of the balcony, stretched up a hand and grasped on to the underside of the wrought-iron brackets that curled above his head. ‘This'll hold my weight, won't it?' he asked, frowning at the bracket. ‘I wish my wretched arm was better.'

‘George, get down,' repeated Jack. ‘You're making a complete idiot of yourself. You can't climb up there.'

‘D'you think I'll need a ladder? I'll be all right.'

‘George, for God's sake,
get down
!'

‘But the cat's stuck.'

Jack and Rackham exchanged worried glances.

‘There isn't a cat,' said Rackham, after a glance at the balcony.

George smiled reassuringly. ‘Of course there is.' He took a hand off the column to point and wobbled dangerously. ‘Look, it's there.'

Jack took the flailing hand and pulled him down. ‘There isn't a cat and even if there was you can't shin up the railings. What's come over you?'

‘Nothing,' said George. ‘I'm fine, Jack, but you can't expect me to leave the poor cat stranded up there, can you?' He shook off Jack's arm. ‘Let me go. I won't be a moment.'

Rackham interposed. ‘You mustn't climb up there.'

‘But what about the cat?'

‘There isn't a ruddy cat,' said Jack, losing patience.

George tried to get past him but Rackham barred his way. ‘You're not climbing up there. Apart from being dangerous, I bet it's against the law.'

‘Leave it, George,' said Jack. ‘Come on. Are we going for this curry or not?'

Flanked between Jack and Rackham, George was unwillingly shepherded down the street.

They got to the Young Services, George still vigorously protesting. ‘I wish you'd let me help that cat,' he said, as they went into the lobby.

‘Drop it, George,' said Jack, handing his coat and hat to the cloakroom attendant.

‘It wouldn't have taken me long,' George said stubbornly.

Jack gave a snort of exasperation. He could see how uncomfortable Rackham was feeling and he wasn't alone. ‘George, listen to me. I'll grant you saw a cat; I'll believe that the wretched animal was stuck; I'll even concede that, given an absence of anything else to do, you might want to save it; but you cannot, really cannot, start porch-climbing in St James's Place and you are not, really are not, going to dominate the rest of the evening by talking about it. Now, what about this curry?'

They went into the dining room where the subject of cats was thankfully forsaken. They turned their attention to food and, helped by whitebait and hock, followed by curry cooked by the Young Services' Indian chef, the conversation moved on to safer ground.