Dancers in Mourning (15 page)

Sutane listened to him, his head on one side, and quite evidently thought him a little mad.

‘Has she found the dog now?'

‘Yes. They're both being looked after, I'm happy to say.'

Sutane passed a weary hand over his forehead.

‘My God!' he said.

Glancing at Doctor Bouverie's expression, Campion was reminded of an old gentleman of his acquaintance who used to recount how he walked round the house of a despised contemporary and ‘mentally spat'. Doctor Bouverie was mentally spitting now. Campion changed the conversation.

‘Sutane,' he said, ‘do you know if Chloe Pye suffered from semi-choking or fainting fits at any time?'

The doctor coughed warningly, but his eyes were interested. So was Sutane. He looked at them both sharply.

‘I never heard of it,' he said. ‘I didn't know her at all, you see.'

Doctor Bouverie glowered. ‘But she was staying in your house …'

The faint colour came into Sutane's face.

‘I did not know her,' he said quickly. ‘Until she joined the cast of
The Buffer
I had never met her, except casually at parties.' In his anxiety to sound convincing he adopted an intensity which defeated his object. ‘She was a virtual stranger to me.'

The doctor was put out by the underlying antagonism in the voice.

‘You'll tell that to the Coroner,' he said.

Sutane paused in his stride. ‘Naturally,' he said, and, turning on his heel, he walked swiftly and angrily away.

As he conducted the doctor to his car Campion remembered Chloe Pye sitting on Sock's knee in the morning-room and heard afresh her squeaky protest: ‘Jimmy and I are old friends.'

‘T
HERE
are times, my dear feller,' said Uncle William, ‘when the whole world gets out of gear and tumbles helter-skelter about one's ears, makin' one feel damnably uncomfortable and at a loose end. At those times there's only one thing to do about it, and that's to light a good cigar, take a glass in one's hand and wait until one sees a ray of light shinin' at one through the gloom. That's been my rule all through my life and it's never failed me yet. Sit down, my boy, and I'll get the drinks.'

Looking more bearlike than ever in his old gentleman's suit of brown-and-beige-striped flannel, he waved Mr Campion to a chair by the fireplace in the small music-room and went to a cupboard in the bottom of the bookcase.

‘Dear people,' he observed as he surveyed a half decanter of Scotch whisky which he found there. ‘Fancy rememberin' me at a time like this. This is my own supply. When I first came down here last year Jimmy pointed the cupboard out to me and told me he'd given orders that a decanter and glasses should always be kept there so that I could get a drink whenever I liked without havin' to fidget round for it. That's what I mean about these people, Campion. They're dear good souls, kind, thoughtful and intelligent, who make a feller feel he's livin' at home. A better home than some I've known,' he added thoughtfully. ‘Poor mother! No sense of comfort as we know it today. Still, a very grand old woman, Campion. Here's to her. God bless her.'

Campion drank a silent toast to Great-Aunt Caroline, and wished she were still alive without actually desiring her awe-inspiring presence in the moment's dilemma. Uncle William continued.

‘Sutane, Konrad and Sock at the inquest, Linda up with the child, Eve driving Mercer to Birley and that Finbrough woman safely out of the way,' he said with satisfaction. ‘We're alone in peace to think a bit.'

‘What happened to Slippers Bellew?' Campion enquired.

‘Oh, she left. Sensible girl.' Uncle William's bright blue eyes applauded her intelligence. ‘As soon as the news came last night Sock bundled her into her little car and she drove off down the lane, going the other way to avoid the trouble. Not as callous as it sounds. As Sock pointed out, she's not a woman; she's a performing animal with a reputation. He told her that she couldn't do anything to help and might have to carry the show if Sutane dropped out for a night or so. She's not quite what you'd expect from an actress. Lives entirely by schedule. So much sleep, so much exercise, so much work. Gives an entirely different impression from the stage.'

He shook his head with mild regret and settled himself opposite Campion.

‘Hate carryin' tales,' he remarked, cocking an eye at the younger man. ‘Don't like it. Never did. That's the mischief of a rumpus of this sort. People takin' other people in corners and chatterin'. Can't get away from it. Bound to occur. Very funny scene in here just before lunch while you were talkin' to the doctor in the garden.'

‘Oh?' Campion was encouraging and Uncle William nodded.

‘Very funny scene,' he repeated. ‘Made me think. May be nothin' in it. Still, I thought I'd repeat it as I'm not sure I wasn't meant to. I came down here after you left the bedroom – saw no point in watchin' Sutane dress – and had just settled myself when Konrad came sidlin' in lookin' for me. Didn't encourage him. Can't stand the feller. It was he who insisted on talkin'. Said didn't I think it funny Chloe Pye of all people dyin'. I answered him. I said I didn't see it was any more peculiar that she should die than anybody else. In fact I made it pretty plain to him that I could spare the woman. Never have believed in false sentiment, Campion. She was devilish awful alive, and the place is quieter without her playin' the hussy in every room one went into. No point in refusin' to admit that. Well, we beat about the bush for a bit and then he came out with the tale he was determined to tell me. I pooh-poohed it at the time, of course, but it had its points of interest.'

He paused and tucked his small fat feet round the legs of his chair.

‘There was a bit of a mystery about the way the woman got into the show. You know that?' he began slowly. ‘Sutane just announced it one day and in she came. Well, there's nothin' in that. He may have liked her dancin', although you know my views. However, this little runt Konrad says he was sittin' in the theatre at the rehearsal of a new scene and Sutane was a couple of rows in front of him, watchin' the show, not knowin' Konrad was there. The feller was eavesdroppin'; got to face it. The woman Chloe Pye came along in the dark and sat down next to Sutane. Konrad said he didn't like to move and so had to sit and listen.'

Uncle William snorted by way of comment.

‘Well, apparently Miss Pye started talkin' about some telephone messages she'd had from Sutane and Konrad repeated her words. May not be accurate, of course. Still, tell you for what it's worth. The little twip says she said “Darlin”' – she used to talk like that, it means nothin' – “darlin', don't be a fool. Your wife has asked me down and I'm comin'.” The next thing Konrad heard – and he must have sat there with his ears flappin' – was Sutane sayin', “I don't want you down there, Chloe. I've done all I'm going to do and I won't have you in my house”.'

Uncle William paused, drank deeply, and blew his nose.

‘Monstrous thing this listenin' and repeatin', bandyin' words to and fro, probably all wrong,' he rumbled unhappily. ‘But this next bit is interestin' if true. Konrad says that Chloe Pye – and what a hussy, Campion, forcin' herself on a feller when told point-blank she wasn't wanted! No hintin', mind you; told point-blank – Konrad says that Chloe Pye said, “How are you goin' to stop me, my lamb?” and Sutane replied straight from the shoulder, like the dear feller he is, “I don't know. But if you try to break up my home I'll stop you, if I have to strangle you”.'

He sat back in his chair and surveyed Campion with unblinking eyes.

‘The cat's out of the bag,' he said. ‘I've repeated the story. Felt I ought to. Mind you, may be all a pack of lies. Still, it's a funny tale to invent and Jimmy told me himself that he didn't want the woman here, but she froze on to Linda one day behind the scenes and the unsuspectin' girl parted up with an invitation. What I feel is, Campion, it's not the sort of gossip for Konrad to go round repeatin', is it? That's why I couldn't find it in my heart to blame Eve.'

‘Eve?' enquired Mr Campion, temporarily out of his depth.

Uncle William's pink face darkened.

‘Was comin' to her,' he mumbled. ‘She was just outside that window over there sittin' in a deck-chair. Overheard Konrad talkin' to me. More listenin'.'

‘Did she say anything?'

‘The scene I referred to took place,' said Uncle William briefly. ‘I left 'em. Seemed best. When people are hurlin' abuse there's always the chance of one of 'em confusin' the issue and thinkin' you've said somethin' yourself. I came away.'

They sat in silence for some minutes. It was cool and dark in the small north room. Outside the garden was sparkling in the afternoon sun.

Mr Campion considered Benny Konrad.

‘I've heard several references to a “rally”,' he said. ‘What's that?'

‘Konrad's Speedo Club.' Uncle William spoke contemptuously. ‘One of these publicity notions these fellers have to get up to. You ought to have heard of it, Campion. The feller's the high priest of the bicycle. Ludicrous sort of idea.'

Dim recollections of press paragraphs floated into Mr Campion's mind. Uncle William prompted him.

‘Konrad had a very successful dance act some years ago with a bicycle and lent his name to some sort of advertising stunt which was illustrated. Pictures of him everywhere with a certain firm's machine. One thing led to another as these things do, and a club was formed with Konrad as president. He presents prizes and attends races in France. That sort of thing. There was quite a large membership once, I believe, composed of a lot of enthusiastic young fellers who used to come and see him act and applaud. The trouble is he's not good. Can't carry a show alone. After his failure in
Wheels Within Wheels
he was lookin' for a shop, as we call it, and was devilish glad to take Sutane's understudy with a couple of unimportant numbers in my show,
The Buffer
. However, he still works hard at his publicity. This rally is the important day in the club's year. It's a small body now but very enthusiastic. They see him as the hero of their hobby, a sort of prince – poor misguided souls.'

He leant forward and placed a stubby forefinger on Campion's knee.

‘Konrad's the sort of chap who's got all the paraphernalia for success except the essential talent,' he said earnestly. ‘He's like a feller in a fine tail-coat without the chest to fill it out.'

‘What do they do at this rally?' Campion was still interested.

‘Ride from a pub in London to a pub in Essex, and finish at a pub somewhere else for a meal and speeches. Takes place next Sunday week.'

Uncle William poured himself another drink.

‘I'm goin' to have a brief nap. These are stirrin' times. Think about what I've told you, Campion. Jimmy's a good feller. Can't have him covered with contumely, especially from the mouth of a little tick. Think it over, my boy.'

Campion rose to his feet.

‘I will,' he promised and his lean face was thoughtful.

He had a very clear recollection of Sutane's appearance at the window on the evening before and his subsequent behaviour at the scene of the accident, and an uncomfortable doubt assailed him.

Leaving Uncle William reposing in an arm-chair, his short legs crossed at the ankles and his face composed for philosophical contemplation, Campion went out into the vast hall on whose stone squares the sunlight laid long shimmering fingers from the front door. The house was placid and quiet in the drowsy afternoon.

He remained looking out into the garden for some minutes and did not hear Linda come down until her foot touched the stone behind him. She looked white and tired, and the angle of her jaw seemed sharper and smaller than he had noticed it before.

‘She's asleep,' she said. ‘Poor darlings! They look like a coloured plate in a Christmas supplement. Rufe is a good little chap. He woke when I moved but he didn't stir. He's very fond of her.'

‘And how's Nurse?' inquired Mr Campion.

She laughed and her eyes met his. Campion looked away from her and across the lawn to the trees beyond.

‘We'd better use both rooms for tea,' she said. ‘There'll be a lot of us.'

He followed her into the drawing-room unwillingly and helped her to roll back the folding doors which separated it from the breakfast-room.

‘They're bringing Mrs Pole back with them, and her son.' Linda sounded weary. ‘She's Chloe Pye's sister-in-law. Her husband is abroad and she's the nearest relative available. She seems very much upset.' She sighed and he glanced at her.

‘Difficult?'

‘I'm rather afraid she may be. She kept me on the phone for nearly three-quarters of an hour this morning. It's ghastly, isn't it? I can't feel it's a death somehow. It's a filthy thing to say, but it's more like a new production.'

She accepted the cigarette he offered her and sat down in the window, while he remained standing before her.

‘If you had some sleep now it would be a good thing,' he said, feeling slightly silly. ‘I mean you've had a tremendous strain in the last twenty-four hours, this business and the child.'

She looked up and surprised him by her expression.

‘I did care about the child,' she said. ‘I do love her. I'm not careless. I
do
do all I can. I'd let her go, even, if I thought she'd be all right. But she's so young, so terribly young. Poor, poor baby.'

She glanced out of the window. She was not crying but her mouth was not perfectly controlled. In her need she was disarming and he forgot the suffocating and novel self-consciousness which she had begun to engender in him.