Cry For Kit Part 5

'What's up?' asked Tinker, returning with his son. 'The car's all right, isn't it?'

'If only it were a simple matter of a puncture...!' I said. 'Tinker love, sit down, will you? And your son, too? I'm in trouble, and I need your help.' I told them everything that had happened to me since my arrival, omitting all mention of Johnny and his relations.h.i.+p to Edward, and confining my mention of the Strakers to talk of family discussions. I told them of the a.s.sault on me, and of the loss of my bracelet; at which Tinker looked startled and put his hand automatically on his desk. I learned later that the charm he had given me had been returned to him since our meeting that morning, and that he didn't particularly wish his son to learn of its existence. I didn't falter in my narrative, but went on briskly to describe the phone calls I had had, the people I had visited, and at last what had happened to the car they had rented me.

'We're insured, of course,' said Tinker. 'Although come to think of it, acts of terrorism may not be included in the policy...'

'That's not the point,' I said. 'The police don't yet know that I hired the car, and I don't intend to tell them unless I have to. If I do tell them, I won't be able to leave town tonight, because they will want to take statements from me and you and everyone else I have contacted since I arrived. I have been trying to make out a list of the people they may wish to question and it goes something like this: both the Strakers, Morton Ferguson at the bank, Fred Greenwood the estate agent, Con Birtwhistle and you two. Then there is my sister Mary and her husband Tom, Sheila Greenwood and her lover, Amy Straker and her son Piers, and to round off the list I suppose I must include Marge Lawrence the interior decorator.'

They gaped. This Was Life! they seemed to be thinking.

'Which of them done it?' asked the boy.

'I wish I knew.'

Tinker had gone into a slow burn. He reached for the phone and started to dial.

'That's my b.l.o.o.d.y car they've damaged,' he said. 'I'm phoning the police!'

CHAPTER FOUR.

'Stop that!' Tinker's son killed the call. 'Use your common, Dad! Most of the people she's mentioned are good clients of ours and they won't want the bogies around asking questions.'

He gave his old man the high sign, and I smiled to myself, wondering exactly what tax fiddle Tinker was running that he should prefer to keep the police at arm's length.

'What I thought was,' I said, 'that I could write you out a cheque to cover the value of the car, and that if you are put to any expense in recovering it, then I will reimburse you. I am leaving town tonight and I won't be returning. I shall say nothing to the police about having been connected with the car in any way. In due course I suppose they may ask, as a matter of routine, whether you had hired this car out. You will act surprised, say yes you did and were wondering why the American lady had failed to return it at the end of her week's rental. They will then contact me in New York, and I will say that yes, I did hire it, but had to return to New York earlier than I expected and simply had forgotten all about the car and wasn't that terrible of me! Here's my address in New York; you can contact me, reversing the charges, if anything goes wrong.'

Tinker took my card, and frowned over it. 'The police have a right to know,' he said.

'What good would it do?' I asked. 'I have an enemy in town but to discover who it is would mean raking up the past, old flirtations, old jealousies, causing trouble unnecessarily. When I go, the trouble will go with me, and none of my old friends will be hurt. Why should you, or anyone else, be investigated by the police for the sake of a few hours' flirtation nineteen years ago?' I stifled the memory of Tinker happily having it off with me night after night in the long gra.s.s down by the river. And me enjoying it. Skilful little brute, he'd been. I hoped his wife appreciated him.

Tinker gave in. 'Well, if you put it like that...!'

'The police suspect it may have been an IRA bomb. Let them go on thinking that.'

'While the real villain gets away with it? It couldn't have been the Strakers, either of them. It would never occur to them. Not Fred-the great soft baby! Not Morton-he'd be afraid he'd be found out and lose his pension! The Blakes? I don't know them. What does he do?'

'I can't really see him doing it,' said I, thinking of my big, slow-moving brother-in-law. Yet he hadn't been at home that afternoon, and he hadn't been watching Johnny play tennis. I supposed he was at work. It would be easy to check up. No, I didn't want to do any more prying into other people's lives. I would go, and everything would return to normal.

'A woman might have done it,' suggested Tinker's son. 'That Marge Lawrence has got the devil of a temper, I know, because I heard her in action when one of our lads accidentally splashed her with petrol...'

'I don't know, and I don't want to know,' I said wearily. I picked up my handbag, eased myself back into my shoes and tottered out into the forecourt. How the devil was I going to get back to the hotel? I couldn't rent yet another car from the Mayhews-or could I? A blue Mini cruised along the road before us. There was yet another blue Mini parked at the petrol pumps, having a refill. A young married woman was at the wheel, and there were two children in the back.

A Mini. Blue. Driven by a dark man whom I'd thought I had recognised. He had followed me around all morning and, yes, he had parked in the Market Square when I went into the hotel to meet Edward. I closed my eyes in order to concentrate. The telephone call warning me that my car was in danger...going to the window...looking out...the explosion...people running, screaming...Yes, the man in the blue Mini had been leaning against his car watching as mine burst into flames. He hadn't ducked, or run away, or shouted when the car went up.

Just now...had it been the same man? I thought so.

'Do you know a dark-haired man who drives a light blue Mini?' I asked the Mayhews. 'It's not a new car, but not very old, either. Yellow number plate. Some kind of mascot dangling by the driving mirror. The man is tallish but not heavy, with stylishly cut smooth dark hair. He's wearing a brown tweed jacket over a high-necked brown pullover, and black trousers. Pale face, long moustache. He's been following me around all morning and I think he may have had something to do with the explosion.'

'Mr Hinds!' they said, almost together.

'You know,' Tinker prompted my memory. 'The one they used to call "Slim Jim". The one you couldn't stand. He runs a blue Mini, though I'd have said it was more of a mid than a light blue. You think it might be him?' He sounded pleased.

Slim Jim Hinds. Yes, I remembered him now. He was Bet Hinds' cousin, but not nearly so nice, and he had been one of those who used to pester me in the old days. I remembered now that I'd had to slap his face in public once. Could he have held a grudge all these years?

'What does he do? Where might I find him? If I could have a talk with him before I leave it might help to straighten out the car business for you.'

The Mayhews looked at each other, 'He doesn't do much since the divorce,' said Tinker. 'He tried to touch all his relations for money, until even Con grew tired of him and Bet told him to go on the dole like everyone else who was out of a job. He got slung out of his father-in-law's firm, see, and had to take a job as a travelling salesman. I don't know why he lost that second job. The last I heard he was answering ads for just about anything. He even had the nerve to ask if I'd take him on as a car salesman, but I said I valued my reputation too highly. Don't know where you'd find him now.'

'Mrs Greenwood's place?' suggested his son.

'Ah, that's about it,' said Tinker. 'But not a word to Fred, mind! d.i.c.k'-this to his son-'take Mrs Neely out there, wait for her and then drive her back to the hotel when she's ready to leave. Use your head, now,'-to me-'leave d.i.c.k outside the house to time your visit. If you're not out in half an hour, he'll ring the police. Right?'

d.i.c.k had a low-slung sports car which he had hotted up, and I found the ride uncomfortable, if informative. d.i.c.k was the chatty type. Sheila Greenwood had taken the children and gone back home to Mum and Dad Ferguson, who lived in an enormous house on The Hill, miles away from my sister; all the best people were to be found on The Hill, because it was close to the golf club. Sheila didn't have a job, but helped her parents and the au pair girl run the house, and looked after the children. Jim Hinds was not allowed to sleep there, of course, but he had made himself useful as an odd job man while he was out of work, and the Fergusons didn't actively object to his spending most of his free time in Sheila's company. The odds were two to one that we would find him there.

'She's got the whole of the upstairs for herself and the kids,' said d.i.c.k, as he drew up outside a big, nineteen-twenties house. 'Her Hillman needs a lot of attention, and I've been out here several times to attend to it when she couldn't get it to start. It's in the garage, I see, so she's here all right, but it looks as if she's got a visitor.' A Bentley stood in the drive. 'Yes, it's Lady Muck all right.'

'Who?' The garage was empty except for the Hillman, so neither Jim nor the Fergusons were there.

'Mrs Paul Barnes. The wife of one of our Members of Parliament. I shouldn't take the mickey, really! She's one of the best women drivers I've come across.' He got out jerkily, and opened the bonnet of the car, saying he'd give me half an hour.

I went up the drive because that was what I had come to do, but I didn't have much enthusiasm for a talk with Sheila-especially with Joan Barnes listening in. The idea that Jim and Sheila might have combined to persecute me because of grudges that were now nineteen years old appealed less and less.

And yet Sheila had cried that morning and Con seemed to think that I was at least partly to blame for her tears. If my presence had been hurting Fred's chances of getting Sheila back, then perhaps I ought to see her, if only to a.s.sure her that I really was going.

A slim teenager opened the door, biting at an apple.

'Mum, it's for you!' she yelled, and from the depths of the house came the sound of heavy shoes descending an uncarpeted staircase. The teenager disappeared, leaving the door open. I stepped inside.

I wouldn't have recognised Sheila if I hadn't been expecting to see her. She towered over me in a bright red jumper and modish grey slacks. She knew who I was all right. She had a pale skin and fine eyes; both began to register anger that I had dared to approach her in her sanctuary. The interview seemed likely to be as disastrous as had been the one with Mary.

Before she could order me off the premises, Joan Barnes made an entrance down the stairs after her. Joan never walked into a room, but always Made an Entrance. She was the sort of person who could make a funny story out of the butcher's having given her the wrong joint, and a drama out of a flat tyre.

'Darling!' she cried and, making a swooping pa.s.s at my left cheek with hers, she pressed her fingers around my shoulders and gave me a shake of welcome. She was acting the part of Hostess, but her gesture of friends.h.i.+p was meant to be taken at surface value.

'Darling!' she said again, feeling for a handkerchief. 'Dammit, I am going to cry, and it always disturbs my contact lenses! Someone said you were only on a flying visit, but I said I didn't believe it because you wouldn't leave without coming to see me.'

'Dear Joan!' I said. 'Thank you. I wish I could, but I'm leaving again tonight.'

'Why don't you telephone me tomorrow...bother this party tonight, or you could come back with me now for a good chat! Ring me, and we'll arrange to meet somehow, either in London or New York. I was over in New York with Paul last year, but didn't have your address.' She put two fingers in her mouth, blew a porter's whistle, and collected a handbag from a table nearby. Footsteps thundered down the stairs and a long-legged pair of boys raced an even longer-legged girl through the hall, and out of the front door.

'Animals!' remarked Joan. 'Have you any children, Kit? However, they have to be fed and I have to change and find Paul's cuff-links, so I'll be off.' She turned in the doorway to add, 'Now behave, both of you!'

She slammed the door behind her, and the house felt cold. No central heating on at this time of year, of course. Not in good old, chilly old England.

'Would you like a drink?' Sheila was making a big effort to be polite.

I had only had a couple of sandwiches for lunch, and a sip of tea since. I couldn't face the thought of drink. 'Might I have a cup of coffee, or tea?'

She looked incredulous, but led the way upstairs to her own kitchen. Her kitchen was an improvement on Mary's as far as equipment was concerned, but the atmosphere was just as icy. She asked if I'd like to wait in her sitting-room. I said I would rather talk to her, if I might.

'News travels fast,' I said. 'How did Joan know I was leaving?'

'Paul had lunch with Fred, who said you were running around telling some mad story about having been attacked. He told Joan, and Joan told me. If you came back solely to make trouble...'

'But Fred didn't know that I was leaving again so soon.'

'Oh, Bet told me that. She rang after lunch to see if I wanted a lift to the party tonight. I told Joan when she came to collect her brood. We have a working arrangement to have each other's children one afternoon a week in the holidays. They play tennis and swim and go to the pictures en bloc.'

She slapped a cup of coffee on the table and pushed the sugar basin at me. I tried to a.n.a.lyse her att.i.tude and came to the conclusion that now her initial impulse to anger had been dissipated by Joan, Sheila felt no more than an impersonal dislike for me. She was not projecting the hatred I would have expected to feel from someone who had attacked and persecuted me.

'I didn't see you at the hotel last night,' I said, prolonging the conversation because I wanted time to drink my coffee.

'I was there all right. I saw you. Fred tried to stage another of his scenes, so I left. Luckily I'd taken my own car, or I might have had to sit there and listen to him.'

'Wasn't Jim with you?'

'Now who's been talking? I was on my own. If you must know, and I suppose the news will be all over town soon, he's left town. He got himself a good job in Manchester and gave up his room last week. I don't expect to see a lot of him in the future.'

'I thought I saw him today, driving around in a blue Mini.'

'He sold his car last week, when he heard he was going. He gets a car with his new job, and he needed the cash to set himself up in a flat in Manchester. He sold the Mini to a friend of his-Bates, or some name like it. Cates? Bates, I think. I expect it was him you saw.'

So out went Jim. Whoever it was who had followed me around, it hadn't been Jim. She started to peel potatoes, throwing a glance out of the window now and then; her children were playing in the garden below. I decided that, like me, she was basically the maternal type who needed someone to look after. She didn't make the best of herself, though. She wore next to no make-up, her hair was a mess, and the scarlet of her sweater didn't suit her style.

'Why did you come to see me?'

'Because of Fred. I don't wish him any harm, and I don't like to think what the police will have to say to him. Someone has been trying to kill me. I was attacked last night, just after I saw Fred at the hotel. My bracelet was taken...the charm bracelet I always wore, you remember? Fred's going around saying that he got his charm back through the letterbox this morning, but suppose he didn't? Suppose it was he who attacked me? He had the opportunity and the means, and he was the only one of my old friends who didn't welcome me back with open arms. He's made it quite clear to me that he thinks I'm a threat to his hopes of being reconciled to you...'

'What absolute nonsense!' she cried. She was getting angry again.

I knew it was nonsense, but it didn't suit my plan to admit it. 'I'm going to leave town tonight, but I'm going to ask the police to investigate Fred's movements. Be sure that they will. Attempted murder and robbery with violence, accompanied by threats to kill me if I don't leave town tonight...what do you think he'll get for it? I don't see why you're getting so cross! Isn't this going to be marvellous ammunition for you when it comes to a divorce? You'll be able to get whatever you ask for in the way of alimony, and bar him from access to the children!'

'You are crazy! He wouldn't do a thing like that! What harm has he ever done to you...?'

I picked up my handbag and went out on to the landing, where I had seen a telephone.

'What's Fred's number?' I asked her.

She was actually wringing her hands. She told me. I dialled. 'It's either this or ring the police; we'll get him over here and talk to him. He won't confess to me, but he might talk to you.' The telephonist at the estate agency put me through to Fred. 'Fred, I'm at the Fergusons' house, talking to Sheila. You'd better get over here, quick!'

Fred's voice quacked alarm.

'At the double!' I said. 'All h.e.l.l's let loose here, and only you can sort it out.'

I replaced the receiver without waiting for his reply, and hauled my weeping hostess into what I guessed to be her bedroom. I was right.

'What are you doing? Let go of me!'

'Haven't you anything soft and frilly to wear? Not black or white, but something in a pastel shade...?' I found a pretty housecoat which looked as if it had been a Christmas present. She went on objecting through her tears. while I got her changed, brushed her hair into a prettier style, and picked out a pretty lipstick for her to wear.

'That's more like it,' I said, as she actually made a move to help herself by blotting her lips. 'You're not the type to let your man get away just because he made eyes at an au pair girl, are you? You've taught him a lesson he'll never forget and now you're prepared to take him back because he's threatened by the police...You don't believe he's a villain, do you?'

'He isn't!' she said. Her tears had stopped. Sheila's timing was appallingly bad.

'Try to keep the tears flowing,' I begged her. 'He'll be here in a moment...'

I disposed her in an armchair in her sitting-room, lowered the blinds so that the early evening sun did not make her squint, and ran. I was right on my deadline, and I didn't want d.i.c.k Mayhew phoning the police. He was revving up the engine as I tore out of the house. I waved to him and cried that he should hold on just one more second, for I had seen another car speeding up the road, and I hoped it might be Fred. Luckily, it was.

'What's the matter?' he gasped. 'Is Sheila all right? There hasn't been an accident or anything, has there?'

'Idiot!' I told him. 'Go straight up, into the sitting-room, and give her a big hug. I gave her a scare to make her realise she didn't really want to let you go. Jim's gone, and she's all alone. Don't argue with her, don't attempt explanations...just be a bit physical.'

'What?'

I stepped into d.i.c.k's car, waved goodbye and eased off my shoes.

'No go?' asked d.i.c.k.

'It wasn't Jim. Sheila knows nothing and cares less. I'm sorry to have dragged you all the way over here on a fool's errand.'

'My pleasure.' He sat straight, preening himself. I was amused to see that he was every bit as randy as his father had been, and that he was about to make a pa.s.s at me.

'It's a pity you're going,' he said. 'Why not put it off till tomorrow, and let me show you the sights of the town tonight? I'm supposed to be going to this stuffy party with Dad, but there'll be so many people there they'll never miss me. How about it?'

'That's the nicest offer I've had for months. It takes years off my age! Thanks, d.i.c.k, but I really must catch that train. You go off to the party and drink a gla.s.s of wine to me; I'll have supper on the train and return the compliment.'

He was satisfied with that. We drove into the Square. I was thankful to see that the wreck of my car had been towed away. d.i.c.k helped me out of the car and went with me to the hotel steps, to make sure I would be safe, as he put it. I shook hands with him and went inside, checking my watch. I didn't think I'd make the next train. Perhaps I could have a sandwich in the bar while I killed time for the one after it.

'Letter for you, Mrs Neely,' said the receptionist. 'And a couple of phone calls. Also your bill, and we've got you a reservation for tonight at the Dorchester.'

I paid my bill and went upstairs to finish my packing. Nothing had turned out as I had planned; I felt old and depressed. One of the phone messages was from Edward, but he hadn't said anything about calling back. So that was that. By tomorrow I would be well out of his reach.

I must not cry.

The other phone message was from Jack, saying that he had taken my advice and been successful beyond his expectations. Dear Jack-I was delighted that he should have a second chance.

The last envelope contained an expensive, embossed invitation from Mr and Mrs Edward Straker for their party that night, to celebrate the eighteenth birthday of their son Piers at White Wings. R.S.V.P. Someone had written on the back, 'Do please come-my brother will call at the hotel to collect you!' It couldn't be genuine!

Was someone having a joke at my expense? I tore the card across and then put the pieces together again. Did I, or did I not recognise the handwriting?

The phone rang. The receptionist announced that Mr James Coulster had arrived, and was waiting for me in the bar. Amy's brother, the one who hadn't wanted to go into the works, thus creating a vacancy which Edward had been elected to fill.

I couldn't understand what was going on. If Amy had sent me the invitation...But why?