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My view was momentarily obscured as everybody rushed forward in concern. ‘I think he’s having a heart attack!’ the guy next to me exclaimed. People were talking over each other, trying to see what was going on, as the panicked family clustered around the prone figure.
‘Give him some room, for Christ's sake!’ Graham Chadwick hissed.
Faraday was lying on his side on the marble floor. The crowd backed off slightly and I caught a glimpse of him through the muddle of people. There was spittle on his mouth and his whole body was shaking.
‘Mummy, what’s happening?’ one of the twins cried out.
‘Not now, Cynthia!’ Somebody bundled the children away.
Joan Chadwick was on her knees, beside her father. ‘For god’s sake, can somebody please help him?’ She looked up at us in despair.
Otto Leibniz handed his champagne flute to his wife and stepped forward. ‘Let me look, please.’ His authoritative tone was enough to grant him access, though Chadwick regarded the man suspiciously as he crouched down beside the body. Leibniz stretched out a hand, but before he could do anything all the life seemed to go out of James Faraday.
‘Oh, no!’ Mrs Chadwick exclaimed. ‘Please no!’
The body slumped visibly.
‘For Christ’s sake, somebody call an ambulance!’ Mr Chadwick demanded.
Leibniz put a hand to the captain’s mouth and then to his wrist, to check for any signs of life, but there was nothing. He leaned in and put an ear to the man’s breast; then he cradled his hands together and started to press down on his chest.
Chadwick looked on in horror. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘I am trying to save his life,’ Leibniz said. ‘Please, call for an ambulance.’
That jolted Chadwick into action. His gaze fell on his brother, who was standing grimly across the way. ‘Jimmy. What the hell are you waiting for? The phone.’
The man in the checked shirt nodded. He turned on his heels and headed for the door, his shoes crunching on some of the glass I had inadvertently dropped.
Leibniz continued his work, pumping down, trying to resuscitate the lifeless figure. He seemed to know what he was doing.
Joan Chadwick had tears streaming down her face. ‘Please don’t die. Not now. I’m so sorry. I didn’t...I didn’t mean any of this to happen.’
‘He’s not dead yet,’ her husband snapped at her.
Behind me, the children were being herded out of the ballroom. One of the boys slipped on the wet floor and let out a yelp as he lost his footing. His mother helped him back onto his feet.
Jimmy Chadwick was already out in the corridor. I moved to follow him, hoping to find Susan and let her know what was going on. She was at the far end of the hall, as it turned out, wheeling the cake out on a trolley from the kitchen.
‘Afraid it’s a bit late for that, love,’ Jimmy said, pulling up beside the trolley. The children were quickly bustled past him.
‘What’s going on?’ Susan asked as I appeared from behind. The expression on her face was priceless. “What now?” it seemed to say. Before I could offer a reply, the telephone rang. ‘Oh, hell!’ she exclaimed.
The phone was resting on a table by the main stairs. Jimmy was closer to it than Susan. He snatched up the receiver. ‘Hello? No, I’m sorry, love. Can’t talk now. We’ve got a bit of a crisis on. Can you get off the line? I need to phone for an ambulance.’ He hung up and then dialled 999.
Susan shot me an exasperated look. She still had no idea what was going on.
‘It’s the captain,’ I explained, breathlessly. ‘He’s had a heart attack. He’s in real trouble.’
‘Christ.’
Jimmy got through to the emergency services and quickly gave them all the details.
‘Mr Leibniz is trying to resuscitate him,’ I said. ‘But I don’t think it’s going to do any good. He’s not breathing.’
Susan was dumbfounded. ‘How did it happen?’
‘He was opening the presents. He...he took one look at The Statistics of War and then he collapsed.’
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‘If everyone could move across to the living room, please.’ Susan had quickly taken charge of the situation in the ballroom. Despite her age, she could be quite authoritative when she put her mind to it. Otto Leibniz had done his best, but he had been unable to resuscitate Captain Faraday. The body was lying inert where it had fallen, in front of the patio windows. The guests were standing around awkwardly in the middle of the room, keeping a respectful distance. Someone had found a chair for Mrs Chadwick, who was looking understandably shell-shocked. Monique had surfaced and was sitting with her. Graham Chadwick was staring out of a window, smoking a cigarette. A couple of waitresses were discretely clearing away the glass from the floor. ‘We need to make some space for the ambulance men,’ Susan told everyone. At her direction, the staff and guests began to filter out of the ballroom.
Susan had let off a few expletives, earlier on, when I had first broken the news. I knew what she was thinking: she would be blamed for all of this. It had probably been her boss on the phone and it would only be a matter of time before she called back. For now, though, we had more important things to worry about.
I was dispatched to the driveway to prepare for the arrival of the ambulance. The rain was easing off, thankfully, but how we would squeeze another vehicle onto the gravel drive I had no idea. The front of the house was already jam packed.
‘You’ll be lucky,’ the fire chief responded, when I asked him if he would be able to move the fire engine out of the way. The firemen had been on the point of leaving but the truck was parked awkwardly in front of the bouncy castle and reversing it now would only worsen the situation. ‘A heart attack, you say?’
I nodded. The firemen were trained in first aid and would have been happy to help out at the house, but an ambulance was already screaming towards us – the siren audible in the distance – and the priority now was to clear some space for them.
‘We might be able to squeeze the truck past the marquee,’ the fire chief reckoned, ‘and park out on the lawn on the other side.’ He scratched his nose, surveying the scene. A line of pretty flowers divided the grass from the gravel of the drive. Some of these had already been damaged, when the guests had fled the marquee. ‘We’ll have to flatten the lot,’ the chief said. ‘And it won’t do much for the lawn either.’
There was no choice. He hopped back into his cab and inched the truck forward, crushing the captain’s prized flowers and driving a heavy furrow through the grass, as the ambulance arrived at the main gate. If it had been just the one vehicle, that would have been the end of the matter. The ambulance could fill the gap left by the fire engine. But the police were on their way too and some effort would have to be made to accommodate them.
Hastily, I jotted down a couple of car number plates and hurried back to the house. Most of the guests had by this time gathered in the living room, as Susan had requested. I cleared my throat and read out the numbers.
‘Yes, that’s mine.’ One man raised his hand and then another.
‘If you could just edge your cars a little way off to the left,’ I suggested. ‘That should give the authorities some room.’
The men rolled their eyes but hurried off to do as they were bidden.
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In truth, I had not expected quite so many new arrivals. Not just a van but several police cars as well, marked and unmarked. The van could shuffle up behind the ambulance, but some of the other vehicles would have to perch out on the edge of the road. A couple of constables were assigned to manage any traffic issues.
I was so busy arranging all this that I failed to notice the arrival of a familiar figure in a kipper tie as he navigated his way through the gridlock. ‘Simon Turing!’ It was Detective Sergeant Hussein. His car had been one of those left out on the road. His voice travelled easily across the tops of the other vehicles. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, shuffling sideways between a chunky Vauxhall and a badly parked Cortina.
‘Sergeant! I...oh...’
Another suited figure appeared behind him, a man I didn’t recognise.
Hussein took in my jacket and bow tie, and answered his own question. ‘Moonlighting?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ I forced a smile. ‘Just helping out for the day.’
Sergeant Hussein indicated his companion. ‘This is Detective Inspector Lovelace. Inspector, this is Simon Turing.’
Lovelace extended a hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ He was a thickset man in his early fifties, with a rugged, weather-beaten face, short cropped hair and a rather firm grip. His eyes flicked past me to the fire engine, which was now parked on the far side of the marquee. ‘Has there been a fire?’ he asked. A nasty smell lingered in the air.
‘Yes, I’m afraid so. There was an accident in the marquee earlier on. Nobody was hurt, thankfully.’
Lovelace raised an eyebrow. ‘A fire and a death.’ His attention returned to me. ‘Chaos seems to follow in your footsteps, Mr Turing.’
‘Yes, it has done, just lately,’ I agreed.
Lovelace turned back to the sergeant. ‘Nadeem, you’d better find out what happened.’ He gestured to the tent.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’ll meet you over in the house in a few minutes. Excuse me, will you, Mr Turing?’
‘Yes, of course.’
The inspector disappeared, threading his way across the drive towards the front porch.
‘That’s your boss?’ I asked Hussein, rather pointlessly.
‘Yes. It was meant to be his day off.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault.’
‘No. But...well, it’s been a hell of a few days.’
‘Hasn’t it just?’ The sergeant nodded grimly. ‘Shall we take a look at the tent?’
‘Right. Yes, of course.’
We squeezed ourselves through the gap between the ambulance and the bouncy castle.
‘I was sorry to hear about Mr Babbage,’ I said as we plopped out the other end and arrived in front of the marquee. ‘I really hoped he’d pull through.’
‘The doctors did their best.’ Hussein gestured me inside the tent. ‘We can discuss all that later. Right now, I need to find out about this fire.’
‘Yes, of course.’ The man was all business, as ever. The tent was eerily empty now, denuded of tables and chairs; and people. ‘It started over there,’ I explained, describing the scene as I remembered it and indicating the one remaining table.
‘A presents table?’
‘That’s right.’ We strode across and the sergeant gazed down thoughtfully at the blackened mess. I babbled a few extra details about the schnapps and the children playing.
Hussein looked up. ‘So it was definitely an accident?’
‘I think so. But you’ll have to ask the fire chief. He’s just over there.’ I pointed through a gap in the tent to where the fire engine was now parked. The firemen had set up camp on the lawn. They were sitting on the back lip of the truck, brewing up some tea.
I raised a hand and the chief wandered across, tin mug in hand.
‘The whole thing went up pretty quickly,’ he confirmed. ‘But for the actions of this young man, it could have been a lot worse.’
I coughed in embarrassment, but was secretly pleased at the compliment. It always means more coming from a professional.
‘But you think it was most likely an accident?’ Hussein asked.
‘Most probably. A cigarette butt hitting the alcohol, as I say. And we have a plausible explanation as to how the bottle came to be smashed.’
‘But you’re not ruling out foul play?’
The chief hesitated. ‘Not entirely, no. It could have been deliberate, but there’s no direct evidence to suggest that it was. As I understand it, the tent was pretty full at the time, so there would have been limited opportunity to start a fire deliberately.’
‘I see. Thanks, John,’ the sergeant said. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’
‘Not at all.’ The fire chief returned to his engine.
Hussein scratched an earhole. ‘I’d better go and update the inspector. Thank you for your help, Mr Turing.’ He raised a finger. ‘Don’t go anywhere, will you? We’ll need a full statement in due course. From you and everybody else.’
‘Yes, of course.’ I suppressed a sigh. Seventy people. It would take forever.
––––––––
Jimmy Chadwick had escaped the chaos of the house and was having a quiet cigarette on the front porch. He was leaning against one of the stone columns, waving a hand as various authority figures moved in and out of the building. There were quite a lot of them; policemen, paramedics and the like. A fireman in search of the loo. Jimmy watched them all, coming and going. ‘This is what it must have been like during the war,’ he mused as I pulled up at the front door. ‘Uniforms everywhere. The lawn a glorified car park.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Mind you, I don’t think they’d have had a bouncy castle.’
‘No, probably not,’ I agreed.
He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered me one.
‘No, thank you.’
‘What a day, eh?’ He returned the pack to his pocket. ‘The poor old bugger. What a way to go.’
‘It was awful,’ I said, ‘keeling over like that, in front of everyone.’
‘Yeah.’ He took a drag of his cigarette. ‘Not the way I’d choose.’
I hesitated. ‘Were you...did you know him well?’
‘The old man?’ Jimmy let out a puff of smoke and nodded sadly. ‘Yeah, we go way back. Must be fifteen, twenty years. He was a good bloke. No airs and graces. A real gentleman. Never looked down his nose at anyone.’
I attempted a smile. ‘You got on well with him?’
‘Yeah. He was always ready for a laugh. We were chalk and cheese, but he was happy to share a drink and a chat. It’s Joan I feel sorry for.’ His brow furrowed, thinking back to the events in the ballroom. ‘This is going to hit her real hard. I mean, the old man was no spring chicken, but coming out of the blue like this. And, like you say, in front of everyone.’
‘I can’t help but feel a little bit responsible.’
‘Responsible?’ Jimmy didn’t understand.
‘Well, in a way. That argument, between you and your brother. I...well, I told him what was happening. I was worried that you might come to blows. It was my fault, him coming over and talking to you both. If I hadn’t got him involved...’
Jimmy shrugged. ‘Don’t beat yourself up, mate. It’s not your fault.’
‘But the stress of it, on a day like this, with everything else that was going on.’
‘If it hadn’t been that, it would have been something else. When you’re ready to go, you’re ready to go.’ He leaned over, to tap out some ash into a plant pot. ‘Christ, you should have seen him, though, the old man.’ He shook his head. ‘When he came into the library. He was furious. My brother giving that girl her marching orders. He said to him, if anyone’s going to be leaving, mate, it’s you, not the au pair.’
My eyes widened. ‘He said that?’
‘Well, words to that effect.’ Jimmy scratched the side of his face. ‘There was no love lost between them two, believe me.’ He gazed out across the car park. ‘The old man said he wasn’t having that kind of behaviour in his house. And too bloody right. Well, you saw, didn’t you? Smacking the poor cow like that. The old man told him to sling his hook. As soon as the party was over. He wasn’t welcome here anymore.’
‘He was going to throw him out?’
‘Yeah. That’s what he said. Just him. Not Joan. He wasn’t going to kick his own daughter out.’
‘No. Right. I didn’t realise.’
‘The poor old bugger. It’s no wonder he bust a fuse.’
‘Yes.’ It had been a uniquely stressful day. ‘What with that and Mr Babbage.’
‘Babbage?’ Jimmy peered at me curiously. ‘What about him?’
‘Oh.’ Hell. He still didn’t know. ‘I’m so sorry. You haven’t heard? Mr Babbage. He passed away, earlier today. There was an accident.’
Jimmy’s jaw dropped. ‘You’re joking!’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
‘Old Cabbage, dead?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Jesus.’ He regarded me in dismay. ‘What happened?’
I explained about the accident on the bridge.
‘Bloody hell. And you were there?’
‘I was.’ Briefly, I outlined what I had seen and the phone call we had received this afternoon from the police confirming his death.
‘Bloody hell,’ Jimmy said again. ‘The poor bugger.’ He raised a hand and rubbed his eyes, aghast. ‘It never rains but it pours. I was just thinking about him the other day.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘He was part of the furniture. Part of the family.’ He frowned as another thought occurred to him. ‘The old man. Did he know? I mean, about Cabbage. Before he....’
‘Yes, Mrs Chadwick told him. Just before the toast.’
Jimmy let out a heavy breath. ‘That’s what did it, then,’ he concluded. ‘Nothing to do with the au pair. It was that that killed him.’
‘Mr Babbage? He was close to him, was he?’
‘Like father and son.’ Jimmy took a long drag of the cigarette. ‘In more ways than one. God. No wonder he collapsed like that. That’s what must have finished him off.’
‘He did look pretty upset.’
‘He’d have been heart-broken. Cabbage, of all people.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
Jimmy slumped back against the pillar. All the wind seemed to have gone out of his sails. ‘What a day! What a bloody day.’
I stepped to one side as an ambulance man careered out of the house. There was a brief silence as he disappeared from view and Jimmy continued to digest the news.
‘What will happen to this place?’ I asked, gazing up at the stonework beyond the porch. The walls were cracked and covered in ivy. ‘Now that the captain’s gone. Will it go to Mrs Chadwick?’
‘Yeah, it’ll all come to her,’ he confirmed, absently. ‘I don’t reckon she’ll hold on to it. Not for long anyway. Too big and too expensive to keep up.’ He considered for a minute. ‘If I know Graham, he’ll want to get shot of the place as soon as possible. He’ll sell it off and plough the cash back into his business.’
‘The estate agency?’
‘Yeah. Chadwicks.’ Jimmy flicked his eyes heavenwards. ‘They need all the cash they can get.’
‘Yes, I heard it wasn’t doing well. Sorry, that’s none of my business.’
‘It’s not a secret.’ Jimmy shrugged. ‘They’ve been burning up money for months, trying to keep it all afloat.’ He took another drag of his cigarette. ‘Got too big for his boots, my brother. Opened up too many branches. He’s up to his eyeballs in debt. It’s no way to run a business, if you ask me. Should have taken a leaf out of Cabbage’s book, the poor old sod. Keep everything small. That’s what I do.’
‘You’re a handyman too, are you?’
‘Me? No, I’m a plumber. My own little business. No staff, no worries. None of the faff. Our mum said, when we were little, find yourself a job that never goes out of fashion. Rain or shine, someone always needs a plumber. Here, I’ll give you my card.’ He lifted a hand to his shirt pocket. ‘Tell your friends.’
‘Thank you.’ I pocketed the card dubiously. ‘But your brother...’
Jimmy shrugged. ‘He got too cocky. He even asked me for a loan, can you believe it, when everything started to go pear shaped. And of course the old man refused to help out. You can’t exactly blame him for that. Throwing good money after bad. And now he’s dead, the poor bugger, and Cabbage too.’ He dropped the cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out. ‘And my brother stands to inherit everything.’ He laughed. ‘The jammy sod.’