If you hadn’t known that our hostess had just been carted away in a body bag, you’d never have guessed it from the scene that met our eyes when we all returned to the dining room; I wondered exactly how much brandy, and other alcohol, Glen had served. Felicity and Charles were giggling like schoolchildren, their heads bobbing up and down, close together; Piers was waving his arms expansively as he illustrated some critical point to Sir Simon, who was looking shocked, yet entertained; Bella and Renata were holding hands, smiling at each other, and toasting the family portrait on the wall; Julie and Glen were a blur of activity in the kitchen, as pots were being washed and food rearranged on the countertop. Vinnie was the only person who seemed to be a little adrift; he was standing beside the kitchen island, nibbling at something, and looking for all the world as though he were the only person in the room who was aware someone had died.
Worthington announced our arrival with a melodramatic clearing of his throat. The seeming-conviviality stopped instantly; everyone turned toward him and froze. DaVinci would have loved the scene. I took the opportunity to examine each face, every expression, knowing I’d want to revisit it in my mind’s eye later on. The moment passed when Vinnie let something clatter onto his plate; the tableau shifted, though Worthington retained everyone’s attention.
“My name’s Worthington. This is Enderby. We need to take statements from everyone. I have no doubt you expected as much.” There was a general, tentative, nodding.
John spoke quietly to Glen, who made a beeline out of the kitchen, after whispering something hurriedly to his wife. She swooped into action, pulling trays, mugs, pots, and plates from a variety of cupboards. I perked up when I realized this activity was a precursor to there being coffee available in the meeting room, because I knew I was beginning to tire; I hoped jet lag wouldn’t hit me until Bud and I were able to get back to John’s house, which I assumed wouldn’t be for hours. I also hoped Bud would manage to push on through, then realized he was actually looking a good deal more chipper than he had on the drive from the airport. The thrill of the chase, no doubt.
John announced, “Julie and Glen are just setting up the meeting room to accommodate us all. I’m sure Mr. Worthington will want to start as soon as possible. Maybe if folks could begin to make their way through, then we can get going.”
“Good, I have an early flight to Jersey in the morning.” Sir Simon Pendlebury threw down his snowy linen napkin and began to push back his seat.
Felicity Sampson said, “You’re not the only one who wants to get away from this place as fast as possible, is he, Charles?”
She turned to seek assurance from Bella’s brother who replied, “I thought I might stay over. That’ll be alright with you, won’t it, Piers? I’ll use the yellow room. Close enough if you need anything during the night. Can’t abandon my dear brother-in-law in his hour of need.”
“I’ll be here if Piers needs anything,” said Bella. Her voice cracked as she spoke; her amber eyes looked darker than they had upon our arrival that evening.
“But you’ll be in your own little hidey-hole, with John-boy,” replied Charles. “Too far away to be of much practical use. No, I’ll stay. I insist. The room’s all made up, isn’t it, Julie?” His tone was forced. Odd.
“It always is when you come for dinner, Mr. Charles,” replied Julie from the kitchen.
Charles blew her a kiss. “How well you know my love of the wine cellar in this house.”
“Follow me, please, ladies, gentlemen,” said Glen, emerging from yet another door all-but hidden within the paneling of the dining-room’s wall. I was right behind him.
We crossed a dimly-lit hallway, which appeared to run from the front to the very back of the house, then entered a large, mauve, damask-papered room. An ornately carved partners’ desk sat beside a window which would doubtless offer both users a fine view of the garden in daylight, but most of the room was filled by a stunning, walnut-veneered oval table, surrounded by a dozen matched chairs. Wall sconces flattered the room’s décor and gave it a clubby feeling, despite the delicacy of the object d’arts dotted on the surfaces of several serviceable sideboards and chests of drawers around the perimeter of the room. The art on the walls seemed to be a variety of depictions of Beulah House through its various incarnations, and the local area when it had been a good deal more bucolic than it now was.
“This will do nicely,” said Worthington, who removed his overcoat for the first time since his arrival.
Glen took it from him. “We’ll bring coffee, and some biscuits, as soon as possible,” he said, turning to leave.
“And I’d like both you and Julie to join us too, Glen, thank you,” called Worthington, as he skirted the table and took a seat at the center of the long side of the oval, facing the door. He gestured that we should all take seats, as we arrived; I was first in, with Enderby at my shoulder.
Felicity Sampson entered the room as I was beginning to believe she’d entered every room throughout her entire life – with an air of expecting all heads to turn to look at her. I was already staring at the door, so all I had to do was not smile at her – something I was certain she’d notice; Worthington’s complete indifference to her arrival was even more satisfying. She upped the ante by sighing tragically as she sank onto a chair opposite him. Worthington still didn’t look up from his phone; he went up in my estimation by at least two notches.
Piers was accompanied by John and Bella; Sir Simon straggled along behind with Charles, and Renata brought up the rear of the group, with Vinnie beside her. Eventually, Bud rushed in; the only people missing were Glen and Julie, who followed momentarily, each carrying a tray.
“Thank you,” said Worthington. “I’ll begin, while coffee is served.” He nodded at Julie and Glen who set about delivering mugs of coffee to everyone around the table. He continued, “We’re all here, now, which means I can ask Mr. Tavistock a question.” Piers looked up from the bowl of brandy he’d brought with him. “Enderby, the note, if you please. Can you tell me, Mr. Tavistock, if this is written in your wife’s hand?”
Piers took the plastic bag from Enderby and frowned. “What’s this?”
“Please, sir, if you’d just examine it, as Mr. Worthington asked.” Enderby’s voice wasn’t just low, it reverberated in the now-silent room.
Piers pulled a pair of pince-nez from his waistcoat pocket. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d produced a monocle, but the pince-nez were adequate for the caricature the man had become since I’d first known him. He peered at the note. His lips moved as he read silently.
“Good God! Where did you find this? When? This is…oh my poor Sasha.” He shoved the note toward Enderby, who only just managed to catch it before it fell to the ground. Piers grabbed the glass he’d placed on the table beside him and took a swig.
“Did your wife write that note?” Worthington’s voice rumbled.
Piers nodded. “It’s her handwriting alright. Her signature, too. But…but what does it mean? That she took her own life because…because of what?” Piers pushed himself out of his chair and reached to take the note from Enderby’s hand. “Give it to me. What did it say?” He scanned the note again, his eyes darting, sweat beading on his brow. “Why?” He waggled the note.
Worthington replied, “I had hoped you might be able to tell us, Mr. Tavistock.”
Piers all but threw the note at Enderby, “Well I can’t. Sasha must have…she must have been disturbed about something. Not in her right mind. I mean, of course she wasn’t in her right mind if she killed herself, which this note tells us she did. But why? She could have…she could have talked to me about it…whatever it was.”
Worthington reacted coolly. “Now that we have confirmation it was written by the deceased, this note makes Mrs. Tavistock’s intentions quite clear. We’re so terribly sorry for your tragic loss, and I very much appreciate your patience this evening. In due course you’ll be contacted by the coroner’s office to allow arrangements to be made, and, of course, we’ll make sure all our personnel and paraphernalia are removed from your home as soon as possible. But, in the spirit of completing my task with due diligence, I would like to ask everyone here just a few questions. I need to give a full report to my…superiors…about the events leading up to Mrs. Tavistock’s tragic death. I’m sure you all understand why.”
I could tell from the faces around the table that was not the case.
As John and Bud avoided each other’s gaze, Bella stood, her eyes glittering. “May I see the note, please? I’m her…was her sister.” She sucked her lips. “You know what I mean. May I see it, please?”
Worthington nodded at Enderby, who passed the note to Bella. She cradled the precious object for what must have been two, long minutes. It was as though Bella was trying to absorb every word with her eyes. Eventually she looked up. Tears rolled down her pale cheeks. “It’s…it’s definitely her handwriting, yes. But…oh, poor Sasha.” She sat down on her seat again, hard. The note fell from her fingers. This time Enderby had to retrieve it from the floor. She slapped it into a folder, which she snapped shut.
Felicity wriggled on her chair, fussed with tendrils of hair at her neck, and cleared her throat as though she had black lung. Finally, Worthington gave her his attention. His broad smile made me think of a shark about to attack, but Felicity didn’t seem to pick up on the threat, and simply mirrored it with a coy one of her own.
“I’ll be direct,” said Worthington, “and I trust you’ll all be the same. Did anyone notice anything amiss this evening, prior to Mrs. Tavistock’s unfortunate demise?”
Felicity tilted her head, dropped her chin, and smiled coyly at the big man. “Not a thing.”
“When did you last see Mrs. Tavistock, prior to her death, Miss Sampson?”
Felicity lifted her chin. “The gong rang, and we all headed for the loo. That’s what we do here. An old habit of Oleg’s. My ex-husband. He didn’t like meals to be disturbed, not even long dinner parties, so he let it be known that one should avail oneself of the facilities prior to sitting down to eat. Sasha kept the old system going.” She giggled. “It’s strange, I suppose, but then this house is so strange, anyway.”
“How so?”
Bella sat forward in her chair, her eyes wide with…what? Anticipation?
Felicity waved her arm. “I never lived here, of course.” Her tone suggested she was relieved by that fact. “Oleg did, as did the girls and their mother –” she indicated Bella – “but I’ve often stayed over. There’s a ghost here. I’ve heard her, but haven’t seen her. Sasha told me they say it’s a woman who walks the hallway upstairs looking for her dead babies. Crying. It’s quite a dreadful sound when one hears it. Pitiful. Chilling. I should have thought a good number of women had lost a good number of babies in this house over the centuries; I’ve no idea what sets this particular woman apart, nor why she sees fit to scare the wits out of unsuspecting house guests, but there you are. Maybe the ghost of that poor woman shoved Sasha off the roof; they can manifest in many ways, I believe. Possibly Sasha finally saw the phantom, and fell off the roof with shock. Oh…but…the note. Ah.” She stopped talking and twirled her coffee mug.
“Setting aside the possibility of ghostly intervention for a moment, can you tell me exactly what you did when you left the salon, Miss Sampson?” Worthington took a mug from Glen, and settled himself.
“I used the bathroom, then heard a terrible commotion downstairs. That was when I found out what had happened.” Felicity’s tone suggested Worthington was extremely stupid for having asked a question to which the answer was glaringly obvious.
“In detail, please,” pressed the man, whose tone betrayed not a hint of impatience.
Felicity looked at her coffee, but didn’t touch it. “Each of the bedrooms has its own attached bathroom, and there’s another guest bathroom available upstairs, too. There are also a couple of guest washrooms off the hallway. I prefer to have a bathroom to myself, when I need one.” She took in the assembled group, her neck flushed a little, and added, “I don’t think those little cupboard things you’ve got downstairs are adequately…you know, not terribly private. Anyway, when I stay here, I always sleep in the pink bedroom. It’s got a lovely view toward London. That’s why I prefer to use that bathroom; I know it. I think I fiddled about with my hair a little – it just wasn’t behaving as it should when I left home this evening – then, as I said, I heard screaming. I made my way to the top of the stairs, and since then I haven’t been alone for a moment. Is that what you wanted to know?”
“So, you were alone, in the bathroom attached to the pink bedroom, for how long, would you say?”
Felicity rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. However long it takes to do the necessary and wash one’s hands. Five minutes?” Her tone was testy.
Worthington looked at me. “How long were you in the salon alone?”
“Approximately thirteen and half minutes.”
Felicity laughed. “That’s ridiculously precise. How do you know that? Did you time it?”
I looked at Worthington as I answered. “In fact, I did. The gong rang when the clock on the mantle in the salon read twenty-nine minutes past seven; I checked my watch, because I’d had to re-set it to the local time when Bud and I arrived at Heathrow, and I wanted to make sure it was correct – at least, correct according to the clock on the mantlepiece. I was a few minutes off, so I put my watch right. I spent some time looking at the art in the salon, but happened to be looking at my watch again when Vinnie started hammering at the door. That was, in total, thirteen and a half minutes later. Miss Sampson appeared at the top of the stars approximately a minute and half after that. Alongside Charles.”
Worthing looked at Felicity, whose mouth was open. “You and Mr. Asimov arrived at the top of the stairs at the same moment?” His tone was polite.
Felicity shut her mouth and swallowed. “I dare say we might have done. He’d have been in the bathroom attached to the blue bedroom, which is next to the pink bedroom. He’d have heard the noises downstairs as I did.”
“So you arrived at the top of the stairs separately, but at the same time?”
Charles interjected, “Yes. Felicity and I arrived separately, but at the same time. I was using the blue bathroom, as she said, and – frankly – for much the same reasons. Why does that matter so much?” He scratched at his beard.
Worthington rumbled, “I wondered if you might be able to provide each other with an alibi.”
Felicity leaned forward and flung out her little hands. “Why on earth would we need an alibi? For what? Sasha threw herself off the roof, didn’t she? The note! Though, God knows Charles would have good reason to have shoved her. She never left you alone for a moment – constantly pushing and pushing you to diversify into this, or stop doing that. Why on earth she couldn’t just let you be a hairdresser and be done with it I don’t know. That’s your forte – and you’re a wizard at it. But she never let up. However, as for Charles throwing her off the roof? Don’t be absurd. He doesn’t need an alibi. Neither of us does.”
Worthington didn’t respond.
Sir Simon Pendlebury jumped in. “I really do need to make a move, so let’s get on with this, shall we?” He stared at his ruinously expensive wristwatch before returning his gaze to Worthington.
“Your reason for being here this evening would be a good place to begin,” said Worthington.
Sir Simon’s eyebrows shot up. “It’s no secret: prior to his death, Oleg Asimov appointed me chairman of the board of the Asimov group of companies. I’d known the man for years, through various business connections, and he wanted a safe pair of hands to run his business empire after he’d gone. None of the children are interested in the businesses, as such.”
“Construction companies, aren’t they?”
I judged that Worthington knew full-well the nature of the Asimov companies.
“Yes, traditionally they were, though they also moved into demolition back in the 1960s, and the past couple of decades has seen a shift of the business focus into waste disposal. Hence the group name of Asimov CD&D: construction, demolition, and disposal. I was here tonight with some papers that needed to be signed by all three of his children – to whom Oleg bequeathed equal shares in the group. They’re large contracts for one of the businesses.” He paused and looked sympathetically toward Bella and Charles, then added, “It shows a great deal of foresight on your late-father’s part that, when they banned the use of asbestos in construction, he knew there’d come a time when there’d be a need for companies who could get it out of buildings ahead of demolition, or refurbishment. You see, Worthington, the Asimov companies carried out so many government construction projects before, during, and after the war, he knew he stood a good chance of picking up the asbestos removal contracts too; the Asimovs had all the original plans, put the stuff in there, then got paid again to take it all out. Brilliant. And necessary, too. Surveying, removal, transportation, then disposal – I’m not going to say it’s the group’s biggest earner, but it’s the steadiest, and those are the contracts up for renewal.”
Worthington sucked the end of the pen with which he wasn’t taking any notes. “They can’t destroy that stuff, can they? Too dangerous.”
Sir Simon leaned forward, totally engaged, “Ah, now that’s where Oleg was ahead of the game too, you see. He’d already invested in a couple of research companies looking into chemical ways to destroy asbestos. It’ll happen, one day, and I intend to ensure the Asimov group is leading the way. It’s taken decades to build their reputation as the go-to people when you’ve got something to pull down, or remediate, or dispose of, and playing a leading role in technological developments will be critical.”
Worthington said, “So, you were here to enjoy dinner, remember the late Oleg Asimov, and get his children to sign some papers – that about it?” Sir Simon nodded. “And did you notice anything unusual about Mrs. Tavistock this evening?”
Sir Simon didn’t even think. “No, I didn’t. She was her usual self in every regard. However, given the way you never quite knew where you were with her in any case, I dare say that’s not saying much. Sorry Piers, but I must be honest, and open.” Piers didn’t look up from his brandy. “Tonight? Tonight we got to share the company of the slightly hyper hostess, but that’s hardly surprising given the reason for the gathering. I’ve seen Sasha several times since her father’s death, and she’s not taken his loss well. Of his three children, she was the one with whom Oleg spent most time, so – again – I would think that’s to be expected. Her state of slightly elevated anxiety this evening was, therefore, normal for her, and the situation.” Sir Simon sat back in his chair, his fingers tracing the edge of the table. He was obviously a man at ease, or at least doing an excellent job of portraying one.
“And could you please share with me your exact movements between the sounding of the gong and the discovery of the body?” Worthington used an almost warm tone.
Pendlebury puffed out his cheeks. “I had an important phone call to make, so I came into this very room to make it. More privacy. I was alone, and while I’m sure you could get all sorts of warrants to allow some twelve-year-old to tell you exactly who I was phoning, I would much prefer you didn’t. It was to be a conversation of the most delicate nature and the person I was calling has a role within the government which propels him, and therefore our communication, into a…sensitive…realm.”
“Would you be prepared to share that person’s name with me in private?”
Pendlebury sat a little more upright. “I shall not, unless legally compelled to do so. It’s not your business. Besides, what would be the purpose of wanting such information?”
“It would give you an alibi.”
I watched Pendlebury’s brow furrow, in stages, as he thought through the implications of what Worthington had said. His fist clenched. “I have to agree with Fliss on this point, Mr. Worthington – why on earth should I, or anyone else, need an alibi? Poor Sasha killed herself. That note you found states her case. Grief, I’d say. Yes, grief at her father’s death. No one needs an alibi.”
“And yet…” Worthington didn’t finish the thought.
I leaned forward and raised a finger, looking at Worthington. He nodded. I said, “What were you and Piers talking about when we all joined you, while you were eating?”
Sir Simon Pendlebury stared at me as though I were a talking dog. “Pardon?”
“When we all joined you, in the dining room, you and Piers were talking about something that involved him showing you how big something was, if I’m not mistaken.”
Pendlebury stared at Worthington, who tilted his head, then he looked at Piers, who was oblivious. Sir Simon’s expression changed, and a smile creased his face. “Ah…Piers was reminding me of a time, back when we were at school, that he and some other boys erected a large tent inside the gymnasium, in the dead of night. No one ever found out who had done it, of course, and we were all given the task of making good the damage to the property. It might have been that.” He shrugged.
“You and Piers were at school together?” I was interested. Piers wasn’t.
“Indeed. Eton, of course. Same year. But I was elected to Pop, and he wasn’t. After school we didn’t see much of each other until he and Sasha developed their PR and lobbying business. Then, of course, the connection was forged anew.”
I could feel Bud tense beside me, and realized he probably had no idea what Sir Simon was talking about when he’d said he’d been elected to Pop at Eton; I made a mental note to tell him all about the way boys are elected to join the elitist group, within the elitist school, at my first opportunity…then smiled as I imagined what his response was likely to be.
I suspected Worthington had noticed the change in my expression, because he glared at me as he asked Sir Simon, “Are you certain no one saw you when you were in this room, during that critical quarter of an hour?” Worthington seemed to be pleading.
“I could hear noises in the kitchen when I passed by, so one assumes Julie and Glen were in there doing…whatever they were doing.”
Glen and Julie looked at each other, and both nodded in Worthington’s direction.
Julie said, “We was both in the kitchen, wasn’t we, Glen love? But we didn’t come in here at all. Didn’t think anyone would need to use this place tonight.” Glen nodded his agreement with his wife’s statement.
Worthington signalled his thanks.
Sir Simon continued, “I didn’t imagine anyone would mind if I came in here. I was sitting at the partners’ desk over there – in the dark, if you must know – totally focused on trying to get through to the person I needed to speak to. It was very frustrating.”
Worthington pounced. “Are you saying, now, Sir Simon, that you didn’t actually connect with the person you were trying to reach?” His voice had a sharper edge to it.
His altered tone seemed to rattle Pendlebury. “Ah, yes, well that’s the thing, you see. No, I couldn’t. I hesitated to leave a message. Then called again when I realized I had to say something. The answerphone gave me the opportunity to rerecord my message, which I did, because I needed to think about what I wanted to say. It took a little time, but I would be surprised if it had taken a quarter of an hour.”
“And you remained in this room the entire time?”
“Indeed. Until I heard a commotion at the front door.”
Worthington leaned forward, but said nothing.
Pendlebury looked at his watch. “If that’s all…” He shifted in his chair. “As I said, no alibi needed. Sasha must have been grieving and…well, you know. Terrible for old Piers, of course. And a loss to the world of public relations in toto. She’ll be missed by her family, of course, and she had a great talent. Highly driven woman. Laser focus. Extremely effective.”
“Does Tavistock and Tavistock act on your behalf?” Worthington sat back. I noticed a large tear roll down Piers’ cheek, but he still wasn’t interacting with anyone in the room – it was as though none of us existed.
Pendlebury stared at Piers, and sighed. Heavily. “Yes. Have done for about…oh, I’d say maybe ten years.”
“And the nature of the business they conduct for you would be…”
“General public relations planning and execution, reputation management, crisis planning, some internal communications stuff – conferences, that sort of thing. And lobbying, of course. That’s what they’re known for. Representing my business to politicians on an ongoing basis.”
“Any politicians in particular?”
Pendlebury ran his tongue along the edge of his top teeth. “A wide range, across the spectrum. I have business interests in many countries around the globe. You probably know of my department stores, but you might not be aware that – having started out needing to fill those shops with appealing goods – I now run one of the biggest import-export groups in the nation, supporting thousands of jobs here, and overseas. My customers are also global. My businesses are impacted by almost every political decision made in this country, and different aspects of my businesses touch almost every MP’s constituency. It’s a symbiotic relationship, and Sasha and Piers help those in political power to better understand that symbiosis.”
I wondered if he really believed a word of what he was saying.
“An interesting endeavor,” said Worthington blandly. “When do you return from Jersey?”
Pendlebury was already out of his seat. “Morning meetings, I shall lunch there, then return. Pre-Christmas drinks at the House of Commons tomorrow evening, and I shan’t miss that. I just hope the weather doesn’t muck up my flights.”
Worthington nodded. “Me too. We might need to talk again. Please make sure you confirm your statement before you leave. Enderby will see to it. And give her a number where you can be reached, should I need to contact you.” Worthington’s tone seemed to take the wind out of Pendlebury’s sails; he simply nodded and all-but scurried out of the room, followed by Enderby.
“When may the rest of us leave?” Felicity was an inch away from whining.
Worthington ignored her, and said, “Mrs. Quiller, did you notice anything in your sister’s behavior this evening that might have indicated she was planning to take her life?”
Bella grasped John’s hand on the tabletop, gave him a look that spoke of desperation and replied, “I wish I had. I might have been able to stop her from…you know. And please, call me Bella. I haven’t been Mrs. Quiller for many years.”
“Indeed,” replied Worthington. “She didn’t say, or do, anything that would not have been her usual habit, or manner?”
“Not at all. As Sir Simon said, Sasha was a little overwrought about this evening’s dinner, but it was to be a gathering to mark what would have been my father’s eightieth birthday, had he but lived to reach it. Somber, yes, but we all wanted to recognize his birthday out of respect. He’s gone, but not forgotten.”
“And when the gong rang, you also used the facilities?”
“Yes. The yellow bedroom. It used to be my mother’s room, when we were children; Sasha and Piers have what used to be Daddy’s room as their bedroom, now. I followed Piers upstairs; he went into his room – well, his and Sasha’s room, of course – and I went into the yellow room. Both are at the rear of the house. I, like Felicity and Charles, only came to the top of the stairs when I heard the commotion. Piers was just behind me, as I recall.” She bent her head and spoke more softly, saying, “I’m telling you about Piers because it really doesn’t look as though he’s up to any of this…I hope that’s alright?” Worthington nodded. Bella finished with, “And that’s it, really. You know what happened after that.”
Worthington turned his attention to Renata. “So, Miss Douglas, it seems you were the last person to be in the company of Mrs. Tavistock by some moments. You say she asked you to accompany her to the terrace beyond the salon, where she wished to smoke before dinner? Was that usual for her?”
Renata’s hands were laid flat on the table in front of her, one either side of her empty coffee mug. “She did smoke before dinner, sometimes, but only at private dinners, like this. Never before a client function. Here, she never smoked inside the house, except for up in the palace room. We stepped outside, then she realized how chilly it was, and headed off around the side of the house to go up the steps to her bedroom, to fetch something to put over her shoulders, she said. That was the last I saw of her, until she was dead.”
“Do you have any idea why she used the outside stairs instead of coming back into the house?”
Renata gave her answer a few seconds’ thought. “We were at the back of the house, her room is at the back of the house. It was quicker.”
“And what did you do after she left you?”
“I waited for her.”
“Outside? In the cold? Why not return to the salon?” I was glad Worthington had asked such a direct question – because that had been worrying me, too.
Renata squared her shoulders. “I started out in life as the daughter of a hard-working lorry driver from Solihull, and have now been the personal assistant to one of the most influential lobbyists in the country for a good many years. I am proud of my achievements, and have only retained my position by being utterly reliable. Let me ask you this, Mr. Worthington: if you were to tell Miss Enderby to wait for you, and you returned to find she’d wandered off to a place where you’d had to hunt her down, how long would she continue to work for you?”
Touché!
“Renata’s the most reliable assistant I’ve ever known,” said Piers, surprisingly. His speech was slurred, his eyes staring at something far away. “We used to share you, didn’t we, Renata? In the early days. Then it all grew so fast…so many hours of work, and meetings, and events, and dinners, and it all got bigger, and bigger.” He finally focused on our inquisitor’s face. “She’s only here tonight because she puts duty to the company above all else, right, Renata? Sasha, of course, had to invite Sir Simon, so we had one man too many. Good God – this poor woman has sat through countless dinners making up numbers, listening to clients drone on and on about their businesses and Lord only knows what else, all so we’ve been able to have a balance of genders sup together. She’s a good woman. Made a huge difference to Sasha when Oleg was dying. Knows what it’s like to watch a father face his mortality, you see, and how that can affect a family. I’ll hear nothing said against her.” He raised his brandy bowl toward Renata, realized it was empty and added, “Glen – bring more of this, now. Fetch the bottle.”
Glen glanced at Worthington, who almost imperceptibly shook his head, saying, “Maybe Mr. Tavistock would prefer a coffee, Glen.”
Piers stood, grabbed the table to stop himself swaying, and barked, “I’m in my own house, and my wife has just seen fit to go and kill herself. I’ll bathe in brandy if I choose, man. Glen. More. The best in the house. Now.” He sat down again. Hard.
Felicity shifted in her seat, and Charles stared at Piers as though he were an alien, which I thought was a bit rich, considering he looked as though he’d tucked away a fair amount of booze at the dinner table.
“And you?” Worthington looked directly at John, who seemed shocked to be addressed.
John spluttered, “I showed Bud where the WCs were in the entry way, and we each used a cubicle. We almost ran into each other when we heard Julie screaming in the entry way. Cait was already there.”
“And I’d remained in the salon, as you know,” I said. I was going to add a few of my own observations – but Worthington reacted to his phone, which began to vibrate on the tabletop.
We all sat in silence as he gave his attention to the instrument, reading, and typing.
“Thank you all, for now. I need to make an important call. If I might have the room, please. See Enderby about your statements.” I looked around to realize the woman had slipped into the room again, unnoticed by anyone; she and Renata seemed to share the ability to melt into their surroundings, becoming almost invisible by dint of their not projecting any personality at all, and favoring bland costume.
We were dismissed, and all got up, ready to move to the more comfortable areas of the house, which everyone did as Worthington dialled, and Enderby ushered.