The next few moments were a frenzy of activity and emotion, and one of those times in my life when I knew I had to observe as much as possible to be able to recall it accurately later on; my eidetic memory can be useful, but only if I’ve perceived something in the first place. The shock of seeing the body shot adrenaline around my system, so I wanted to make use of my heightened senses as best I could.
Bud emerged from a hidden door in the wall of the hallway, rushed to my side, and took in the scene. His eyes narrowed, and he shouted, “No one touch anything,” which seemed a bit over the top considering only Vinnie, Julie, and I were on the spot at the time.
A wiry, gray-haired man I’d never seen, but assumed was Julie’s husband, Glen, appeared through the door in the wall I’d seen Julie use earlier and rushed to her side, trying to calm her – but horrified himself – at about the same moment that John emerged from yet another concealed doorway. He, like Bud, took in the scene in an instant, but his reaction was quite different.
He screamed, “Oh my God, Bella!”
As he made to move toward the body in the snow, Bud managed to grab him back. “It’s no good, John. She’s gone. Her neck…her entire body. The blood.”
John wrestled with Bud as Sir Simon rushed from the salon. “What the devil is…oh, dear Lord. Who…? What…?” He grabbed at John.
“Bella!” John was screaming, wailing, and trying to get away from Bud.
“What’s wrong?” Bella appeared at the top of the stairs looking pink and panicked. John spun around in Bud’s arms, his mouth open.
“Bella – my love!” Bud released his friend, who raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time, while Bella ran down to meet him, sweat beading on her brow.
Piers stood on the top landing. “What the bally-hell is going on?”
John was kissing Bella. “I thought you were dead. Oh, Bella…my Bella.”
“What do you mean, dead, silly Johnnie?” Bella stroked John’s hair.
John was still sobbing, “There’s a body. Outside. On the drive. I thought it was you. But it’s not. So…it must be…oh my darling, I’m so sorry. Your sister. She’s gone.”
Bella slipped from John’s arms and ran down the stairs to the front door. John followed, then it was his turn to hold back Bella from the body and to be the one to try to provide comfort, and reason. Bud and I moved toward each other in the hallway, and he held me tight. Beside the suddenly-incongruous Christmas tree.
Piers stomped down the staircase, peered through the door, then stepped back. He clung to the banister. “Sasha?” It wasn’t much more than a rough whisper.
“What’s all the fuss about? Have you started a party without us?” Charles appeared at the top of the stairs, with Felicity Sampson a step behind him. She looked flushed, her dress was crumpled, and her hair looked…different. They both stopped on the top landing and stared down.
Felicity let out a little giggle, then froze. “What’s happened?”
It was at that moment I realized someone was missing – Sasha’s PA, the woman I hadn’t been introduced to.
“We went outside for her to smoke, but she was chilly, so she came in to get something to put over her shoulders.” I swung around. The mousy woman was standing in the entrance to the salon, a look on her face that suggested resignation more than shock. “Has anyone called 999?”
“Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of things,” said Vinnie grimly. He added, “John, we need to talk. In private. Now.”
John held Bella tight, and pulled her face into his shoulder so she couldn’t see her sister’s body. His voice trembled just a little as he said, “Could a couple of you get Piers out of here? Bud, old man, would you take charge of Bella, please, and maybe sort out some brandies for everyone? I suggest decamping to the dining room and waiting there for the authorities to arrive. Away from here. From this. Vinnie, let’s talk.”
We all headed to the dining room, except for Vinnie and John who disappeared through the front door, pulling it closed behind them.
We were an odd, and distraught, group as we took what should have been our seats for dinner. We all stared at what would, I assumed, have been Sasha’s seat at the head of the table. It seemed to pulsate with emptiness, a sensation which was only heightened by the fact there was a large portrait hanging on the wall beside it, depicting Oleg Asimov and his three children as they’d all have appeared about thirty-five years earlier.
Julie and Glen presented themselves in the doorway of the dining room. “Everything is already set up on the sideboard for brandies,” announced Julie, her voice still thick with tears, “so Glen will serve drinks, while I bring in the soup. You all need something warm inside you – the brandy will be a start, but we could be here for some time.”
“Thank you, Julie,” replied Piers. “I know you’ll do us right.” A small, lost boy’s voice coming from a suddenly deflated man, curled into a chair that seemed to swamp him.
“Indeed I shall, sir. Mrs. T would have wanted that.” Julie left the room, while Glen poured brandy into bowls which Bud offered to pass around. Glen made it clear he wouldn’t hear of such a thing, so Bud sat, patting Bella’s heaving back, his eyes silently begging me for help.
I was sitting next to the woman John had told me was Sasha’s PA. I reached out my hand. “Sorry we’re meeting like this. I’m Cait Morgan. This is my husband, Bud Anderson. We’re friends of John Silver.”
“I know,” she replied. A dry voice to match her dry eyes. “I’m Renata Douglas, Mrs. Tavistock’s personal assistant.”
I answered, “I used to work with Alex – Sasha. It’s hard to use the right name for her, isn’t it?” Immediately the words left my lips, I felt such a fool.
“The two names helped her keep her business and family lives separate,” replied Renata quietly. “Even Mr. Tavistock muddles it up sometimes, but never at business meetings – he always manages to call her Alex then, because she really is quite a different person. Utterly professional. And the hair helps, too, of course.”
“The hair?”
“She always pins up her hair for business, lets it down when it’s personal. It’s quite magical to see her do it, actually. It takes her about four seconds. Quite something to behold. I was surprised to see she had it up tonight – she must have been thinking of this evening as more of a business function. Maybe her father’s ghost had that much power over her. I know mine does.”
I’ve met many people in situations where they’re struggling with the trauma of losing a loved one, or someone close, and I know – both from my experience and training – that there’s no specific way one should expect them to act, or react. But there’s a range of responses one might label “normal”, and others which are at either end of the bell curve…as was Renata’s. It made me wonder about her real feelings toward both Sasha and her late father, Oleg.
John sidled into the dining room and beckoned toward Bud. “A word, in private, old man?”
Bud rose. “Cait will take care of you, Bella, won’t you, Cait?”
I smiled as sweetly as I could and placed my arm around Bella’s shoulders. “How are you feeling?” I asked, knowing I’d get more quiet sobbing in reply. I rubbed Bella’s back as I watched my husband. Bud’s shoulders straightened as John whispered to him; Bud nodded, John whispered again; Bud shook his head, looked at his watch, nodded, and slipped out into the salon; he pulled his phone from his pocket as he left.
When John came to the table and took over my Bella-consoling efforts, I looked around the room and considered the nature of the people gathered there: a knight of the realm, and a billionaire to boot; a hairdresser to the stars, and tabloid favorite; a world-famous, blue-blooded, fading “model”; a titan of the public relations world, and well-connected lobbyist; a revered artist; a liaison across the British secret services, as well as those around the world. I had no idea about Julie or Glen’s backgrounds, nor did I know much about Vinnie or Renata, but I wondered who’d turn up to investigate the death of a woman who herself had apparently no small reputation, while surrounded by such a significant group. I knew John well enough to realize he was certainly going to try to get the tragedy handled by as carefully selected a team of investigators as possible.
“How did Sasha end up…out there, like that?” Piers sounded like a child too young to truly understand the finality of death.
Quietly, Charles replied, “She must have come off the roof. That’s the only way she could have wound up where she did.” He was staring into his brandy.
“How on earth could she fall from the roof?” Piers sounded shocked at the idea. “Why would she be on the roof…unless she meant to…”
Charles shook his head. “I say…has anyone been up there, yet?”
John’s attention was captured. “No one’s going anywhere. We’ll leave that to the authorities, when they arrive.”
“When will that be?” Piers sounded close to tears – though he’d shed none so far.
John moved to Piers’ seat. “They’re on their way, Piers. I promise this will be discreet, and swift. No sirens, no press. I’m sure that’s what the family wants.” He glanced toward Bella. She lifted her eyes to his, and silently thanked him with her gaze.
I sipped my brandy, and encouraged Bella to do the same with hers, despite her protestations that she couldn’t stand the stuff. As I did so I noticed that Renata had polished hers off, while Charles was looking around for a refill. Felicity fidgeted, and kept looking at her watch – which seemed terribly unfeeling.
Then a bizarre scene followed, as Julie carried a tray into the dining room, set it on a sideboard, and began to serve soup to each of us. She was still snuffling, and clearly deeply upset. Everyone was in their own little world, focussed on their grief in their own way; no one acknowledged Julie’s presence, let alone her thoughtfulness. I felt the anger swell in my tummy, blooming with the warmth of the brandy. When she placed my soup in front of me, I said, “When you’ve done this, just let us look after ourselves, Julie. We’ll manage.”
Julie’s face suggested I’d offered to dance naked on the table. “You can’t do that,” she snapped. “I can organize everything that won’t be eaten this evening so it doesn’t go to waste; Glen and I are more than capable of fulfilling our duties.”
“I didn’t mean to suggest…” Foot in mouth again, Cait.
“What were we supposed to be having?” Charles was eyeing his soup with some disappointment. “I’ve only had a couple of apples and a banana today – I was saving myself for tonight. I’m starving.”
I was shocked by his seemingly heartless statement, but a quick glance around my tablemates told me he wasn’t alone in hoping for a larger meal.
“After the cauliflower and stilton soup, there was to be salmon with purple sprouting broccoli, then roast beef with all the trimmings, fruit, and cheese, of course,” replied Julie.
“Any reason we can’t have the lot?” Charles adopted what I assumed he thought was a cute smile.
Julie paused beside me, took one big sniff, and replied warmly, “No reason at all, Mr. Charles. I can finish the preparation and serve the entire meal as planned. If that’s what you’d like. Would that be alright with you, Mr. Tavistock?” She looked at Piers, who was staring into his soup. I doubted he was seeing it at all.
“As you please,” he replied.
I got hotter. “Hang on a minute – I know I’m merely a guest of a guest here, but if people are hungry, isn’t there some way we could all just get a plate of whatever we fancy and let Julie and Glen have a bit of alone time. They’re people too, you know.”
Bella wiped her eyes, and said, “Cait’s right. Julie, why not just open up the kitchen, put everything on the counter, and let us help ourselves? This is no time to stand on ceremony. And who knows how long we’ll be here, anyway. I dare say we’ll all have to be interviewed…give statements, and what-not. If we treat this as a buffet, we can keep picking away at bits and pieces as we choose.” She stood, and addressed the room. “Look, this is terrible, just terrible, and I feel responsible, in part. I was Sasha’s sister. I could have done…more. She didn’t have to end her life that horrible way. But we all need to eat – so let’s at least do that, while we wait.” She stepped away from the table and stood in front of the sideboard, blocking my view of the large slate clock; for a moment it seemed as though she herself were ticking. Then she turned, holding a fresh drink, and retook her seat. She gulped down the entire contents of the brandy bowl; she appeared to have developed a taste for the stuff, after all.
Julie shifted her weight. “I could do that, I suppose. The Yorkshire puds haven’t even gone in yet, so I could forget about them. Everything else works well hot or cold. I’ll do as you ask, Miss Bella.”
I’d been the last person to receive soup, so Julie left through the swing doors with her empty tray, then reappeared as she pulled back sliding, paneled doors which comprised one entire wall of the dining room. I was surprised to see they opened onto a large, well-appointed kitchen, then realized how cleverly the ground floor was designed: two sets of double doors led from the kitchen, one to the salon, one to the dining room; if both sets were opened, as well as the set dividing the dining room from the salon, the entire floor was more or less one large, open area. Whenever needed, the kitchen could be shut away from prying eyes and the dining room given a more formal, private air – as it had been for this evening. Neatly done.
Now that we could see Julie and Glen scurrying around the kitchen, laying serving platters and trays on the counter, most people raced through their soup. I gave in to the wonderful texture and flavor, knowing I could opt for cheese alone thereafter; the brandy had gone to my head, and I feared jet lag might come knocking at any time, so I decided it would be best to load up on fatty proteins.
Oliver Twist-like, we each took our empty soup plates to Julie at the large island counter-top, and she handed out dinner plates, upon which we each piled whatever it was we fancied from the wide range of foodstuffs presented before us. Bella took something for Piers, the rest of us fended for ourselves. I hoped Bud would return soon, so he didn’t miss the chance of hot food. I popped a few bits of cheese into my mouth, then put my plate on the table, and slipped out into the salon to try to find him.
The front door was wide open, cold air wafting in. Bud, John, Vinnie, and two people in overcoats were all standing around the Christmas tree, looking almost festive. Arms were being waved at the windows above the door within the atrium, and making the shape of what I assumed must be the edifice on the roof.
I was desperate to know what was being said, so headed for the group. “Julie’s opened up the kitchen, and everyone’s grazing from what would have been dinner. If any of you need some food, now would be the time to claim a plateful, because I fear it’ll be well picked-over quite quickly.”
Bud’s expression softened as he looked toward me. “Thanks, Cait, but I don’t think we’ll be stopping for food.”
As I got closer, I could tell that one of the figures in what were almost-matching, and exquisitely cut, inky overcoats was a woman, the other a man. The man had a head that seemed just a little too big for his body, even allowing for the bulky outerwear; it looked as though someone had slapped several Brillo pads onto it, while his skin told a tale of terrible teenage acne, and his teeth – on full display as he smiled broadly at me – were equally loquacious on the topic of British dentistry…if teeth function perfectly well, don’t bother with fripperies like realignment. He spoke first, with an air of authority that marked him as having a rank superior to the woman, whose fluttering hands poked from her sleeves like a skeleton’s…her skin was so pale it was almost blue, and her lank brown hair seemed determined to escape from the loose bun at her thin neck.
“That her?” The man’s voice boomed as he looked directly at me; I didn’t imagine there were ever many people in a room who’d tell him to speak more quietly. Bud and John nodded. The man shoved out his chin and rolled a little on his toes.
John nodded. “Absolutely solid.”
Bud added, “And, as you know, fully cleared.”
I felt goosepimples prickle my arms, and told myself it must be because of the chill of the night air, though I feared it wasn’t.
The man extended his hand in my direction. “I’m Worthington. This is Enderby. You’re Professor Morgan.” I shook Worthington’s hand and nodded at Enderby...whose thumbs were occupied with her phone. “I hear you’re an asset worth utilizing, and your track record is impressive – both professionally, and in less formal situations.”
It seemed someone had been digging into my academic reputation, as well as building an insight into the sort of challenges Bud and I had faced in our personal lives.
“I’ve checked your clearances in Canada. They suggest you’re trustworthy and discreet, and we’re down a few members at the moment due to…let’s just say an ‘incident’ at an address sometimes used by a certain front-bench spokesperson. So, all hands to the pumps. We’re part of a select group specializing in cases where discretion is critical. That’s all you need to know. Except for one more thing – I am in control, and that’s that. My word is final, do you understand?”
Not really, but I’m sure that’s your intention, was what I thought. “Absolutely, officer,” was what I said.
“Worthington will do. Mister. Enderby is a Miss. Ranks are immaterial, and only serve to cloud matters.”
“Yes, Mr. Worthington,” I said, feeling like a schoolgirl meeting her new headmaster.
He continued speaking quickly, which I suspected was normal for him. “Our scene of crime specialist tells us the position of the body, and the injuries sustained, suggest Mrs. Tavistock fell straight down. As you’ve surmised, Silver, Anderson –” he nodded at both men – “she couldn’t have landed where she did by falling from a window – all the upper windows at the front of the house, directly above the locus, are inaccessible, being set into the walls of this entry hall. Thus, the point from which she fell must have been the roof. Our SOCO has gloves and protective bootees for all of us. I suggest we follow her to the structure on the roof.”
“It’s called the palace room by the family,” offered John, as Worthington strode toward the stairs, “because of the Crystal Palace.”
Worthington shrugged. “Off to the palace we go, then.”
I wanted to beam at Bud, because there are few things I hate more than missing out on something, and it was obvious that, between them, he and John had managed to get me an “in”. But even I knew that grinning like an idiot was inappropriate, so I followed meekly at the rear of the procession up the staircase, holding my paper shoe-covers and latex gloves, silently fizzing with excitement.