Sunday, 5th November—Guy Fawkes Night.
The following day, Veronica’s mind tumbled with her conversation with Claire the night before. When Fielding departed to begin his day off with Sunday morning service at St. Giles church, she took the opportunity to question the staff without his knowledge.
She decided to begin with Edna and knew just where to find her. The housekeeper was working alone in the basement, occupied with itemizing laundry for the coming week.
Veronica seized her chance. “Edna? May I have a word with you?”
Edna looked up from her clipboard. “Of course. Is something the matter, Mrs. Nash?”
“You could say that. This business of Captain Brooke’s death...” Interesting the way Edna stiffened at the mention of Sylvester’s name. “I have the feeling you’re hiding something.”
Edna sniffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do. You’re very evasive whenever mention is made of Brooke.” Before the other woman could speak, Veronica went on. “Inspector Forester’s not entirely happy with the idea that Brooke committed suicide. He told me so himself. In fact, he said he might decide to investigate further.” She figured the little white lie wouldn’t hurt. “If you are hiding something, you can be sure Forester’s going to find out.”
Edna’s breast heaved beneath the staid white blouse. She put the clipboard aside then turned to look straight at Veronica. “What if I did know the captain before? There’s no crime in it.”
“Indeed not.” Thank God, my gambit paid off. I don’t know how much pressure I could bring to bear had she denied it. “Look, let’s sit down, and you can tell me what happened.”
They pulled out two of the battered chairs consigned to the basement and sat at the broad laundry table. Edna knitted her fingers together in her lap.
“Captain Brooke seduced me,” the housekeeper blurted.
Veronica couldn’t speak from surprise and gaped at the woman before her.
Edna glared at her. “Don’t look like that! I was thirty-five, then. Not so old, nor so plump.” She gestured at herself. “I had a better figure back then.”
“But were you not married?”
Edna looked bitter. “Aye, to Ted Biggin, a drunkard who’d not felt me up for many a year. When Sylvester Brooke began to make passes at me, I was flattered and thought why not? Why not go to bed with him? He was a good-looking young man.” She smiled in reminiscence. “He was hung like a bloody donkey, and knew how to use it, too!”
Veronica’s ears burned with embarrassment at Edna’s frankness. “So... you had an affair.”
Edna shrugged. “If you can call it that. Sylvester stayed here twice during the war, up here on some army business or other. We slept together both times.” She gave a soft snort. “He said he’d take me away from it all once the war was over, but I knew that was just talk. You know how it was in those days. Say goodbye to a fellow off to war, and you wondered if you’d ever see him again.” She stopped and gave Veronica an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, love, I was forgetting. You know only too well what I mean.
“As it happens, I did see him again when it was almost over, squiring some slip of a girl about the town. He didn’t see me. I’d like to think he would’ve felt embarrassed had he done. Still...” She shrugged again and looked Veronica in the eye. “It was fun while it lasted, but when he showed up here again this time I didn’t want to rake over an old acquaintance. Let sleeping dogs lie.”
Veronica burned at the thought of the man she’d taken a fancy to acting in such a cavalier manner. It all happened before I met him again, but it still feels like betrayal. She cleared her throat. “Your husband never found out?”
Edna snorted. “If he did, he didn’t care enough about me to mention it. No, Ted went to his grave in that last flu epidemic none the wiser as far as I know. So, there we are.”
Veronica thought over all Edna had said. I can’t sense anything but frankness in the older woman’s words, yet I have to know more. “For the sake of completeness, did you notice anything amiss the night Brooke was murdered?”
“Where was I on the night of the thirty-first, you mean?” Edna laughed. “I know what you’re on, Mrs. Nash. If you must know, I did speak to Sylvester Brooke. As I said, I didn’t want to rake over an old acquaintance, especially one I’d been intimate with. But I was in the passageway on housekeeping business that evening when he happened to come out of his room. He recognised me straight away, for all I’ve changed since we met last.
“Sylvester asked me into his room for a chat. I accepted, and we spoke about a few things.” She took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “I suppose I was the last to see him alive. We spoke for about an hour, then I left.”
“You were away from Chesterton’s that night?”
“Yes, I was away from the hotel all that night. My sister Marjorie gave our kiddies and their little friends a Halloween party and asked me to help out. The hour had grown late by the time we’d tidied everything away, so I stayed the night at her house.”
“So you weren’t in your room until the following morning?”
“That’s right.”
Veronica glanced at the housekeeper’s keys, hanging from a chatelaine at her waist. “Did you have your keys with you?”
“No, of course not. They’re heavy enough to carry around during my working day. I don’t want to lug them about on my night off. Besides, you know as well as I, Fielding doesn’t want any hotel keys leaving the premises. It’s not safe.”
“I know. Where do you keep them when you’re not wearing the chatelaine?”
“On a hook in my sitting room.” Her eyes narrowed. “What are you thinking, Mrs. Nash?”
“Is it possible someone here knew you were out that evening and helped themselves to your keys?”
Edna opened her mouth, then shut it again and frowned. “Well, I don’t tell anybody where I keep the keys, but I don’t think it’s a secret to the staff. And before you ask, I didn’t notice anything out of place when I got back the next morning.”
“I see.” Veronica pondered the possibilities. “Thanks, Edna. You’ve been very helpful.”
“So, do I have to worry about the coppers coming after me?” Edna’s tone was whimsical but had an edge to it.
Veronica shook her head. “I shouldn’t think you need worry, Edna. All that you’ve done was perfectly reasonable. I was told Captain Brooke died in the early hours of Wednesday morning, and you’ve got witnesses as to your whereabouts at the time. I’ll leave you to your work.”
As she made to rise, Edna reached over to stop her with a hand on her arm. Veronica felt the strength of the woman and considered her perfectly capable of handling a man’s body.
Edna searched her face. “You liked Sylvester Brooke, didn’t you?”
Veronica’s face flushed with warmth. “I did, yes.”
“Don’t fool yourself he wanted to settle down with you, my dear.” Edna shook her head and looked sad. “He was that kind of man. Even so, if you’re right and he was murdered, I would like to see him get some kind of justice.”
Veronica wanted to dispute Edna’s assessment of Brooke but felt it uncharitable after her admission. Instead, she took the easier option. “I hope I’ll find it for him.”
“I’m sure you will.”
Veronica returned to the reception desk and considered her options. After a moment’s thought, she took out the directory and looked up the telephone number for Felix Durand’s lodgings.
When the landlady answered, Veronica cleared her throat. “Monsieur Durand, please.”
I hope he’s still awake after his night shift.
She was in luck. He answered within a minute. “‘Allo? Mrs. Nash? Is something wrong at the ‘otel? Did the bar pumps fail yet again?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Nothing’s wrong, Monsieur Durand, but I need a word with you. I hope I haven’t woken you?”
“Not at all. I am just back from Mass.” He sounded tired. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ll make this as quick as possible. Did you see or hear anything untoward the night Captain Brooke died?”
He didn’t answer for a few moments, but she could hear him breathing. “I was not at the desk all the time, you understand. Around four o’clock, a guest came down to ask for some warm milk for ‘er child. The little girl, she ‘ad the upset stomach. I went to the kitchen to fetch some milk. It did not take more than a few minutes.” He paused again. “There was something else. Something a little odd.”
Veronica felt her pulse quicken. “What was it?”
“It must ‘ave been around five. I thought I saw that ‘ousemaid, Mademoiselle Lovey, going into the corridor to the staff room.”
“That’s curious. She’s not on duty until six in the morning. It’d be very over-eager for her to be there so early.”
“As you say. Apart from those instances, there was nothing untoward.”
She heard him stifle a yawn. “Monsieur, you’ve been very helpful. Thank you.”
“Not at all.”
Durand hung up, and Veronica slowly set the phone down into the cradle. Alison Lovey’s pale face came to her mind. Maybe she has a reason to be so pale.
She turned to Jeremy. “Take over for me, please. There’s something else I need to do.”
A quick glance at the housemaids’ work schedule hung in the office showed her where Alison was likely to be at that hour. Veronica tracked her down to one of the rooms on the lowest floor. “Alison, I’d like a word with you please.”
“Yes, Mrs. Nash?”
The girl looked worried. Veronica knew the room wasn’t booked that day, so she closed the door and pointed to the bed. “Sit there.”
Alison sat with her hands clenched in her lap, giving the air of a prisoner about to hear sentence passed on her.
Veronica grabbed the bedroom chair and drew it close to the bed. She sat directly in front of Alison and put some unaccustomed iron in her voice. “What were you doing, sneaking around this place at five o’clock Wednesday morning?”
Shocked, the girl put her hand to her mouth. “How... how did you know?”
Vindicated by her tactics, Veronica softened her tone of voice. “Never mind how I know, Alison. What were you doing here so early?”
Alison’s cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink in startling contrast to her pale face. Her response came in barely a whisper. “I never left the night before.” She hesitated. “I... I spent the night with Charlie Mitchell.”
Veronica sat back. “Ah. I didn’t expect that.”
Tears came to Alison’s eyes. “Are you going to sack me? I know I broke the rules...”
Veronica shook her head before Alison finished speaking. “No. Mr. Fielding’s the only one who has the right to sack people here.” She thought for a moment. “He need never know.”
“Thank you!” Alison produced a grubby handkerchief and snuffled into it. “I didn’t think anyone guessed what we were up to.”
“As far as I know no one has. How long has it been going on?”
“Since early this year. May.”
Veronica leaned close to lessen the distance between them and lowered her voice to a sympathetic pitch. “You’ve been worrying about this for some time, haven’t you? You look ill.”
Alison nodded, then gulped. When she spoke again, it was in a whisper. “I’m not ill, but I’m worried.”
“About what?”
The girl’s eyes were full of woe. “I missed my monthly. I think I’m in the family way.”
Veronica closed her eyes. “Oh dear...”
“My dad’ll kill me! And Charlie...” Alison sounded on the verge of hysterics. Her eyes swam with miserable tears, and her nose grew snotty.
Veronica took hold of her hands and clasped them. “Alison, listen to me. Not every missed period means you’re pregnant. These things do happen. I’ve missed a few in my time. Have you seen a doctor?”
“No! I don’t want anyone to find out.”
“Doctors are bound to confidentiality.”
Alison grimaced. “You don’t know our family doctor.”
Veronica decided not to pursue the matter. “Very well. Have you been sick of a morning?”
“No.” The girl looked puzzled. “Should I be?”
Veronica gave her a curious look. “Most women do feel nauseous in the earliest stage of pregnancy. When I...” She looked away as memories surged through her mind. “When I was pregnant, I felt as sick as a dog most mornings. It’s a fact of life most women go through when bearing children.” She regarded Alison. “Did your mother not tell you anything about the facts of life?”
Alison shook her head. “She doesn’t like to talk about stuff like that. She says it’s dirty. I only know what my friends say.”
“You don’t use a diaphragm?” She was met with a blank stare. Veronica tried another tack. “Charlie doesn’t wear anything when he has sex with you?”
Alison blushed furiously. “Like what? He doesn’t even wear pyjamas.”
Veronica sighed while trying to delete a mental image of a naked Charlie Mitchell. “Where’s Marie Stopes when you need her?”
Alison managed to look even more flummoxed. “Who?”
“Never mind. Look, has Mitchell said anything about marriage?”
“Who, him?” Alison sniffed. “No. He just likes to play around. I went with Charlie because I felt sorry for him, what with his having one arm and all. His last sweetheart rejected him when he came back from the war with only one arm. He can turn on the charm, all right, but sometimes I feel he’s just using me.” She twisted her handkerchief in her fingers. “I was a virgin until I met him.”
“Alison, if Charlie’s not serious about you, you should stop seeing him. He is just taking advantage of you.”
“Oh, I dunno...”
“Well I do! I’ll not say anything about this to Mr. Fielding, but one of these times he will find out and then you’re both for the high jump. I won’t be able to save you. You know how hard it is to find work these days, especially for a disabled veteran. Pity for him or not, do you want to risk your place here to please Charlie Mitchell?”
“No. I suppose you’re right.” Alison stopped sniffing. Her eyes were red, but she looked more resolute. “I’ll break it off with him.”
Veronica remembered her mission. “Charlie was with you all that night, then?”
“Oh, yes.” Alison gave her a brief smile. “Snoring like anything.”
“Well, then.” She patted Alison’s hand. “Dry your eyes and take a few minutes to gather your wits.” She took a deep breath. “As for your worries, you should know not every pregnancy comes to term.”
Alison stood and gave her a keen look. “Did that happen to you?”
Veronica nodded. Words failed her at that moment.
Alison touched her arm shyly. “I’m so sorry.”
Veronica’s mind teemed with emotions as she left Alison to her own devices. She made a pot of tea in the office and nibbled a couple of Digestive biscuits, turning her mind toward the matter of murder to distract her thoughts.
I’ve accounted for the whereabouts of four potential suspects: Chapman, Edna, Alison, and Mitchell. Of the four, only Chapman and Edna have anything resembling a motive. Felix Durand is still in the running, although I confirmed his early morning sighting of Alison, and can probably verify his fetching warm milk for the sickly child. Of the live-in staff, that leaves Chef Robertson and...
“Mr. Fielding,” she muttered to herself.
The thought of the stuffy Germolene-scented manager skulking through the hotel at night made her smile. What possible motive would he have? Her smile slipped. Unless there was something that occurred between Fielding and Brooke during the war when the captain stayed at Chesterton Hotel.
Her head began to ache as she tried to keep track of all the permutations.
Matters did not improve when she entered the staff room an hour later to find Alison red-faced, crying again. Mitchell stood by the coat rack at the other end of the room, pulling on his overcoat and scarf. A bright red Labour Party rosette adorned the lapel of his coat. He looked daggers at Veronica as he headed for the outside door. It slammed behind him as he left.
Veronica turned to Alison. “I take it you broke up with Mitchell.”
Alison nodded. Like the sun coming out, her face cleared, and she managed a smile. When she spoke, her voice was stronger than earlier that afternoon when she’d confessed to her affair.
“Yes, I ended it. Charlie’s not happy with me, but there it is. I think he knows you talked to me about it all.” She stood, came around the table, and after a moment of hesitation, she hugged Veronica and whispered in her ear. “My monthly started this afternoon. I feel so much better now. It’s like a weight’s been lifted from my shoulders. I won’t ever be so stupid again. I’ll look up that Marie Stopes lady and get one of those diagrams. Thank you!”
Relieved, Veronica patted her back. “I’m glad to have helped. Erm... it’s called a diaphragm.”
“Oh... ah.” Alison released her clasp and stepped back, wiping her eyes. “I owe you a huge debt, Mrs. Nash.”
“It’s all right,” Veronica said with embarrassment. “Let’s not speak of debts. I’m glad you feel better now.”
Other members of staff entered the room and looked curiously at them. Veronica patted Alison’s shoulder. “You’d best be getting back to work. I don’t want to get you in trouble with Mrs. Biggin.”
“Of course. Thank you.”
Veronica went through into the kitchen, where she found Chef Robertson chatting with the pastry chef. They glanced up as she approached.
Veronica smiled. “May I have a word with you, Archie?”
“Aye.” After the pastry chef took his leave, Robertson turned an inquiring look to Veronica. “How can I be of service?” A short, plump man with a round face and head of thick blond hair, Robertson’s Scottish accent showed plainly in the rolling of his r’s.
“Archie, I’m trying to discover what happened the night Captain Brooke... died.”
“Was killed, ye mean?” He nodded before she could reply. “Aye, I know the gossip going around here. How can I help?”
“Do you recall anything of that night?”
Robertson lowered his voice. “I’m afraid I wasnae in the hotel that night.” He glanced around the busy kitchen and gestured for her to follow him into the small cubbyhole that served as his office. “Ye know Edna and I are walking out together?” He stood a little prouder when Veronica nodded. “She and I intend to marry in spring next year.”
“Congratulations!”
“Thank ye. The thing is, we’re doing more than just walking out if ye know what I mean.” His bright blue eyes twinkled with mirth.
Veronica merely nodded. What with my own fling with Roddy, Chapman’s antics with his mistress, and the scenes I witnessed at Bea’s party, I really feel unable to react any more to suggestions of saucy behaviour.
Robertson went on. “That night I was with Edna at her sister’s house, helping with the kiddies’ party. After that, we stayed over. Edna’s sister, Marjorie, is a broad-minded lass. She didnae mind.”
“I see.”
“I was going to leave Marjorie’s house early so I could be on time here, but I overslept. Then I had trouble with the puncture on my front wheel. That ye know about. Edna walked as usual, although I wish she would get the bus.”
“Well, it’s a relief to know you’re in the clear.”
“I know. Lass...” Robertson touched her arm. “I wish ye good luck with this but be careful.” He tapped the side of his nose. “There are some around here who are finding their noses put out of joint by your questions.”
She frowned and stirred with unease. “Who are they?”
He shook his head. “No names, no pack drill. Now, if ye’ll excuse me, I have to get on with my work.”
She made to protest, but he gestured for her to leave. Veronica had no recourse but to do so, for in the kitchen, the chef reigned supreme.
It left her wondering about his cryptic remark. Whose noses have I tweaked? I must be more circumspect than ever when tracing Fielding’s movements during that dreadful night.
When Veronica met Claire that evening, she recounted the story of Alison’s affair with Charlie, omitting the girl’s pregnancy scare.
“Poor girl.” Claire sympathized as they crossed the road to the Electric Cinema, further up Prince of Wales Road from the hotel. “These things happen so often. I’m glad that with your help, she found a way out of her predicament. Pity isn’t a good foundation for romance. Still, it could’ve been worse. She might have become pregnant by him, then what would she have done?”
“Yes, quite.”
They reached the picture house, its bright light spilling across the wet road, and looked up at the marquee. It announced the showing of Moran of the Lady Letty.
Claire smiled when she saw the poster on the cinema wall. “Mmm! Rudolph Valentino. I wanted to see this the moment I spotted them putting the posters up.”
Veronica shrugged as they joined the queue. “I can take him or leave him.”
Claire shot her a disbelieving look. “You’re not a fan.”
Veronica chuckled. “I’m not so bedazzled by the movies I can believe Valentino will swoop down on a white horse and carry me away to his tent.”
Claire shrugged and smiled. “I suppose you’re right. Some actors are not all they’re cracked up to be, especially those from Hollywood. You might remember something of Auntie Bea’s Halloween party. Well, that’s nothing compared to the parties she throws down in London during the season. The stories she tells about what her famous guests get up to would make a sailor blush.”
“Now you’re really shattering my illusions.”
“Oh, cheer up! They’re not all bad. Actually, Auntie says I resemble Julia James, and she should know, she’s a friend of hers.”
Veronica scrutinised her friend. “There’s a resemblance, but you’re younger and better-looking.”
Claire squeezed her arm and grinned. “I love these little unsolicited compliments.”
She paid for seats in the circle.
Veronica demurred. “You should let me pay my way, you know. I’m not quite the pauper.”
Claire waved a hand. “Oh, don’t fuss so, darling. I’m in town and enjoying myself. I can’t do that without you.” She bought a bag of toffees from the concession stand and tucked her hand into the crook of Veronica’s arm as they walked upstairs to the circle.
“Really Ronnie, Daddy’s filthy rich, and I’m the recipient of a whopping great allowance. If I can’t spend some of my wealth for the benefit of others, especially my friends, what use is it?”
Veronica gave up. If I ever have enough money for the cinema at all, it’s usually enough for a cheap stall seat. The circle feels like luxury in comparison.
The cinema appeared to be almost full. Veronica supposed the moviegoers sought an alternative to Guy Fawkes Night. Fireworks had lost most of their charm in the post-war years. Too many ex-servicemen suffered from shell shock and the associated memories of far more lethal explosions.
She and Claire settled down and watched the newsreels, munching on toffees. A reel featuring election speeches began the news. Most of it related to the national political picture, but one sequence showed the prospective Members of Parliament in the county, including a brief shot of Robert Chapman.
Veronica pursed her lips as his beaming image filled the screen. I wonder what the good people around me would think if they knew of his extramarital shenanigans. The newsreel moved on to the exploits of the RAF in Iraq. Veronica watched the footage of big white twin-engine bombers, taking off from a distant desert airfield in clouds of dust, and thought of her youngest brother.
“James could be flying one of those aeroplanes up there on the screen,” she whispered.
Claire sought and squeezed her hand where it rested on her knee. “Isn’t it amazing?” she whispered back. “These films make it all seem so much closer, don’t they. I’m sure he’s all right.”
“Yes.”
“At least these aren’t like those frightful newsreels they showed during the war.” Claire shivered. “They gave me nightmares, especially the ones with those huge mines exploding and blowing people to bits.”
Veronica nodded. I remember the wartime newsreels all too well. Several times I watched them and wondered if Harold was among the figures crossing the bleak alien landscape of the Western Front.
The newsreel ended, and the piano down in the orchestra pit struck up a lively tune as the opening credits for the main feature appeared on the screen.
Claire leaned close. “Let’s just watch the picture and take our minds off murder, war, and mayhem. This one’s supposed to be good.”
Dorothy Dalton played the tomboyish daughter of a Scandinavian ship’s captain. Rudolph Valentino portrayed a wealthy young San Francisco socialite Shanghaied aboard the freighter Heart of China, captained by a ruthless smuggler.
Veronica chewed toffees and relaxed as she watched. Hmm. The Great Valentino isn’t bad at all in this. He’s certainly good looking.
Claire didn’t release her clasp on her hand. After a while, as the smuggling ship came across the sinking Lady Letty, Veronica became aware of Claire moving their joined hands up her leg until they came to rest in her lap. She saw her friend’s profile out the corner of her eye as Claire pressed the back of her hand against her belly. What is she doing?
Claire’s face looked lively in the reflected flickering light from the screen. A quiet smile hovered about her Cupid’s bow lips. After a moment, she began to rub her hand against Veronica’s belly and thigh. It sent a mixed thrill of enjoyment and discomfort through her. Oh God, what is she thinking, doing this in public?
Veronica leaned toward her and lowered her voice to the barest whisper. “Claire!”
“What, darling?”
“Your hand?”
“I know.” The expression Claire turned toward her was one that mingled winsomeness and anxiety. “I do hope you’re not going to be a bore about this?”
“Shush!” came from somewhere behind them.
Veronica shook her head. “No.”
From then on, her attention divided between the movie and Claire’s hand. I can’t deny it feels good, but oh my!
The last credits rolled, the lights went up, and the pianist struck up God Save the King. Veronica and Claire rose and sang the anthem with the other patrons. Afterward, they walked out of the Electric Cinema as they’d entered, arm-in-arm.
Claire sighed as they reached the other side of the road and the lights of Chesterton Hotel shone ahead. “It’s a frightful bore being me, sometimes. As I think I mentioned before, it’s not much fun being one of the surplus two million women in this country.”
“I thought you were getting along famously with Roddy Bascombe the other night.”
“Oh, pfft!” Claire looked rueful. “Auntie Bea bagged him before I could—or rather, she de-bagged him. Roddy and the Satyr both, I think. I never did know that Satyr chap’s name. I suspect Auntie Bea doesn’t either. She seems taken by Roddy. I won’t get a look-in. Quite frankly, I’m giving up.”
Veronica chewed her lip. I’d better not admit to my own night spent with that lothario. He’d proven elusive since, although a check of the register showed he still resided at the hotel.
“Is there no prospect for another man in your life?” she asked.
“Oh, no.” Claire sighed. “I did consider taking off for America or the Argentine where there are said to be men aplenty, but Daddy threatened to cut me off without a penny if I did anything so crass.”
She shuddered and looked mournful. “Sometimes, like tonight, a kind of madness comes over me. I feel as if I would rather crawl out of my own skin than put up with yet another night of being alone and untouched.” Claire cracked a smile that had more than a shade of desperation about it. “That’s when I begin doing silly things, like fondling my friend’s thigh in dark cinemas. Don’t deny you’re not still attracted to me, darling Ronnie. You kissed me at school on the day we left. You kissed me again on the night of the party, do you remember?”
Veronica’s face burned. “I do.”
Claire looked astonished. “You do remember? I’m surprised. You were so squiffy on Roddy’s marching powder.”
“Not so squiffy I’d forget that.”
Claire’s lips twitched. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
Veronica sighed. “It had been a long, long time since I kissed anybody. It felt awfully good, even allowing for all that time. You’re a good kisser.”
“You flatter me. And I rather hope we can get back together, now we’re free of school and parents and all that rot. We can live our own lives.” She sighed again. “Honestly, darling, I could say so much more, but here we are.”
She looked up at the hotel sign then gave Veronica a forced smile. “I’m most dreadfully sorry if I upset or embarrassed you tonight. If I have, I do hope we can remain friends, and keep detecting together.”
“Don’t be silly, Claire. You didn’t embarrass me. Of course, we’re friends.” Veronica took Claire’s hand and led her to a shadowed spot out of sight of the hotel windows, then turned to face her friend. “Claire, I really like you—”
Her friend’s face fell. “Oh dear. When people say that, I hear a but coming.”
Veronica had the impulse to confess her night spent making love to Roddy. Oh no! It would only make the current situation even more fraught with difficulty. Confession might be good for the soul, but I doubt it’d be anything but harmful right now.
“No, there’s no but. Please, just listen. I have a lot on my mind right now. You’re such a wonderful help to me. I’ll be honest and say I can’t be a detective without your help and friendship. However, I’d rather we do just stay friends for now. At least, until this mess is over, and we can think clearly.”
“Well.” Claire released her clasp and smiled. “I suppose I’ll have to settle for that.”
Her words were brave, but the disappointment sounded clear in her voice. Veronica’s heart gave another twinge of guilt as she thought of how Claire had missed a dalliance with Roddy. Claire sounds so lonely. It’s bad enough being a widow in the post-war years. How it must really feel to be one of the surplus two million single women like Claire, competing with all the other women our age and older for the few available men? I can’t begin to guess. Something has changed in Claire. Some new seed of desperation has taken root to set her to making advances to me. Yet I don’t feel repulsed by the idea.
She glanced up and down the street. The cold weather didn’t encourage people to loiter, and the crowd from the cinema had already dispersed. The hotel doorman had gone off duty hours before. No one was nearby. She cupped Claire’s face between her palms and kissed her on the lips, slipping her tongue between them to flick against Claire’s.
“There,” she said, drawing back. “That’s a deposit on the future. When this business is all over, we’ll talk again.”
Claire’s lips twitched then she grinned, her white teeth shining. “You’re such a tease!” She linked arms with Veronica. “Come on, let’s go in. In spite of your lovely warm kiss, I’m getting cold.”
They entered the lobby. Monsieur Duran bowed to them from his post at the registration desk. Claire pressed close to Veronica in the lift, giggling as the young male lift attendant’s ears turned pink with the proximity of the opposite sex. Veronica stepped out at her floor, and Claire blew her a kiss through the closing lift doors.
A rank smell greeted Veronica as she stepped into her room. It underpinned the usual mustiness with a metallic sharpness. It reminds me of the blooding ceremony I went through as a girl in my first—and last—fox hunt. She shuddered at the memory.
On entering her bedroom, she found the source of the smell, lurking in her bed. A large and very bloody dead rat lay on her pillow. She gasped and reeled back. Wild-eyed she looked around, wondering if the intruder, who’d left such a macabre object, still lingered nearby. A quick search showed her rooms were blessedly empty.
With a cry of disgust, she grabbed the pillow and folded it around the wretched article. Unable to bear the thought of having such a thing in her rooms any longer, she carried the pillow at arm’s length downstairs and out to the rubbish bins in the yard. Dumping it into the nearest dustbin, she slammed the lid and drew a much-needed breath of fresh cold air.
The dead rat is a message, no doubt. That her privacy had been violated yet again made her afraid then angry. Somehow, I’m treading on toes that didn’t take kindly to the sensation. But who?
A sense of being watched crept over her, and she looked up quickly. The blank curtained windows of the hotel reflected the rising moon like so many blind eyes.