It was at the hat shop, one of her regular haunts in Beauchamp Place, that Antonia remembered. ‘I believe Sybil referred to a woman called Garrison-Gore. Mrs Garrison-Gore. Earlier on, when you talked about clichés something seemed to click. I can’t swear to it, but I believe I’ve heard someone mention a Romany Garrison-Gore. Unless I dreamt it. No, I didn’t. It was my copy editor who mentioned her.’
‘Your copy editor? Are you sure?’
‘I am.’
‘Are you telling me Mrs Garrison-Gore is one of you? I mean one of the crime-writing sorority. Romany Garrison-Gore. I am most certainly not familiar with the name. It doesn’t ring the faintest bell.’ Payne shook his head. ‘Perhaps she is one of those obscure ones that are strictly for library distribution? It’s ages since I’ve been to the library.’
Antonia was in the process of adjusting a French straw confection on her head. ‘She is “one of us”, yes … Unless it’s a different Mrs Garrison-Gore altogether. Her sister or her cousin.’
‘No, not her sister – they can’t both be “Mrs Garrison-Gore” – unless both women married men called Garrison-Gore … And no two sisters can ever be called “Romany” … Didn’t they make you study Titles and Forms of Address at your finishing school?’
‘I thought Sybil looked furtive when she mentioned Mrs Garrsion-Gore’s name.’ Antonia’s eyes narrowed. ‘As though she regretted letting it slip out. Perhaps I imagined it.’
Payne said that a detective story writer who was already on Sphinx Island was a damned suspicious thing. ‘Yes, it all makes perfect sense now … Sybil was perturbed that you – a detective-story writer yourself – might recognise Mrs Garrison-Gore’s name and draw certain conclusions from it. The obvious conclusion of course is that they are putting on some murder show in our honour and that they have hired the services of a professional to stage-manage it.’
‘You thought the idea far-fetched.’
‘No, not far-fetched at all. Of course Mrs Garrison-Gore’s presence on Sphinx Island may prove to be purely fortuitous – she may be John de Coverley’s latest mistress – or Sybil’s oldest and dearest school chum. Or she may turn out to be a loony ufologist who’s writing a thesis on the alien invasion of Sphinx Island in the fifties. That’s possible, isn’t it?’
‘Sybil wouldn’t refer to her as “Mrs Garrison-Gore” if they’d been at school together,’ Antonia pointed out.
‘That may be some kind of a private joke between them. A chap I was at school with was called Puckler-Muskau, but he became generally known as “Pickled Mustard”. He was an Austrian Prince who could trace his lineage back to the days of the Holy Roman Empire. But we are digressing.’
‘It’s you who’s digressing … Actually, Sybil said Mrs Garrison-Gore was a “friend of a friend”, but that was clearly a fib concocted on the spur of the moment. I think she was trying desperately to distance herself from her.’
‘What did your copy-editor say about Mrs Garrison-Gore exactly?’
‘It was only a passing remark. I don’t think it was particularly nice.’ Antonia scrunched up her face. ‘Something about Romany Garrison-Gore being the ultimate nightmare to edit.’
‘Decidedly not nice … It was that one word, “clichés”, that reminded you of her, wasn’t it? That’s when things clicked?’
‘Yes … How do I look?’
‘You look marvellous … A little to the left … That’s it … Perfect … Clichés … The lady novelist with a penchant for lethal clichés … Could we assume that Romany’s romans policiers are little more than hackneyed rag-bags of disparate ideas pinched from other people’s books?’
‘For some reason I have the impression she writes under an assumed name.’
‘‘‘Garrison-Gore” sounds like an assumed name to me. Somehow one expects the pen of a murder mystery writer to be dipped in gore. Which ties up with the letter. I said that looked like blood, didn’t I? One must never underestimate the power of subliminal suggestion … Names are funny things … I believe President Reagan had a spokesman called “Speakes”, didn’t he?’
‘Shall I buy this hat then?’ Once more Antonia was looking at her reflection in the mirror.
‘I think you should. It has the wow factor.’ Payne put his head to one side. ‘Yes. You will be the queen of Sphinx Island. Facile princeps and ne plus ultra … Oswald Ramskritt and Doctor Klein will be impelled to fight a duel over you whereas John de Coverley will throw himself at your feet and beg to kiss the hem of your gown.’
‘I don’t intend to wear the hat on Sphinx Island.’
‘I think you should. It would be a mistake not to.’
‘Perhaps you should wear it,’ said Antonia. ‘It may deter you from saying one too many silly things?’
‘I think you should pump your copy-editor for more details regarding la Romany,’ Payne said. ‘Or would she consider bitching about the authors she is paid to serve unprofessional?’
‘I like the hat very much. I am going to buy it,’ Antonia turned to the shop assistant. ‘I am so terribly sorry. We’ve been keeping you waiting. We’ve been exceedingly thoughtless. You’ve been extremely patient.’
‘No, not at all, madam.’ The shop assistant gave a little bow and said that it had been a pleasure.
Antonia watched him place the hat in a luxurious box made of jade-green silk. ‘Hugh, would you –?’
‘Yes, of course, my love.’ Payne produced his wallet.
‘Thank you, sir.’ The shop assistant bowed again and asked whether there would be anything else he could do for them.
‘I hope you won’t think my question awfully peculiar,’ said Payne, ‘but are you at all familiar with what goes on at Murder Weekends?’
‘I attended a Murder Weekend once,’ said the shop assistant. ‘It took place at a very pleasant moat hotel in Surrey. It was my wife’s idea. We enjoyed the food and the view but not the actual detection.’
Antonia looked at him. ‘Oh? Why not?’
‘Some of our fellow participants indulged in noisy and frequently ill-natured disagreements. As a matter of fact, two ladies nearly came to blows over a bronze statuette representing a ruminative monkey. One lady insisted the monkey was a red herring, while the other argued that it was a clue.’
‘Which one was it?’
‘Neither. As it turned out, the bronze monkey played no part in the Murder Game. It was merely part of the hotel décor. It had been given to the manager as a present by a Nepalese tourist, as we subsequently discovered. The odd thing was that we’d convinced ourselves the two ladies were actresses and that the fracas was part of the script, which of course they were obliged to follow.’ The shop assistant shook his head. ‘People are so competitive.’
‘I don’t think we’ll have any competition where we are going,’ Payne said. ‘We believe we’ll be the only people who will have to guess whodunnit. You see, we strongly suspect the whole thing’s being staged for us and us alone as it is our tenth wedding anniversary.’
‘Your tenth wedding anniversary? May I offer you my warmest congratulations, sir – madam?’ The shop assistant bowed for the third time.
‘We may be wrong of course. It may prove to be – um – something completely different altogether.’
‘You aren’t by any chance contemplating the possibility of a real murder, sir? That ploy has been used in several books already, I believe. A Murder Game ending in real murder. Not a particularly original idea – if I may venture an opinion.’
‘Don’t you sometimes wish that we possessed the kind of temperament that has been described as “sublimely uninquisitive”?’ Antonia said as they left the shop and stood looking for a taxi.
‘No, never.’
‘We’d have been so much happier.’
‘I rather doubt it.’
‘Oh don’t let’s go, Hugh! Please. It’s bound to be an awful bore.’ She clutched at his arm. ‘Some silly Murder Game, which, for your aunt’s sake, we’ll have to pretend to enjoy!’
‘My aunt would be terribly disappointed if we didn’t go … Oh there’s a taxi.’ Payne held up his rolled umbrella. ‘Eight people on Sphinx Island,’ he went on after they got in. ‘There will be ten, when we go.’
‘If we go,’ said Antonia.
‘Ten people on an island, one of whom is quite cranky and has murder on the mind.’
‘I very much hope it won’t be that scenario.’
‘The cast of dramatis personae promises to be an interesting bunch … Who do we imagine will kill whom and why?’ Payne asked.
‘I don’t know and I don’t care, though for some reason I see Mrs Garrison-Gore as the victim … While working out the details of the Murder Game, she does research and discovers something discreditable about one of her fellow guests.’
‘Ah. The Mystery of the Murdered Muckraker. Excellent … Which fellow guest?’
‘It’s got to be the rich American as he is the one character who is immediately associated with high stakes. Oswald Ramskritt has a skeleton in his cupboard … Behind every great fortune there is a crime …’
‘Who said that? Donald Trump? The Duke of Kent?’
‘Balzac, actually.’
‘Let’s decide on the crime … Bone in mixed byre that goes with corruption.’
‘You sound like the Riddler now.’
‘Perhaps I am the Riddler,’ said Payne. ‘Perhaps this is all my doing.’
‘How many letters?’ Antonia asked.
‘Seven.’
‘Seven? Rib, I believe, is anagram of “byre”, sort of. Am I on the right track?’
‘You are.’
‘Oh it’s easy. Bribery – bribery and corruption?’
‘Bribery and corruption it is. Ramskritt was once in jail. He has bribed some person in a high place in return for having his criminal record destroyed. Or records. He may have more than one. An extremely likely contingency since he is an American. He may have been involved in organised crime. Ramskritt’s reason for killing Mrs Garrison-Gore will be to prevent her from blurting out his guilty secret.’