‘I do apologize. I made you jump. You don’t know me. Are you a friend of Penelope’s?’ It was a good-looking young man with feverish black eyes who had addressed her. He couldn’t be more than twenty-one or twenty-two, Antonia thought. His hair was dark and almost shoulder-length. He looked like a cross between Prince Valiant and Rudolf Nureyev, she decided.
The next moment she frowned in a puzzled way. ‘I think we have met before—haven’t we? Your face looks familiar.’
‘I think you saw me earlier on, as you walked to the house. I was in my car.’ He pointed. ‘You passed by. I have been sitting there the whole morning, watching the house. Who is the man? There is a man with Penelope, isn’t there? You must have seen him. He was with her, wasn’t he?’
‘What man?’
‘Not at all her type, but he is clearly allowed access. Something I am not. Not any longer.’ The young man spoke bitterly. ‘He had dark glasses on but took them off. Brown hair, round eyes, shining upper lip. She opened the door for him—that was earlier on, a couple of minutes before you came. He is there, isn’t he? In the house. He hasn’t come out yet, so he must still be inside. Didn’t you meet him? Didn’t she introduce him to you?’
‘No. I didn’t meet anyone. Lady Tradescant said she was alone in the house.’ That slamming door. There had been somebody there. Antonia was sure of it, though she decided to say nothing about it.
The young man passed his hand over his face. ‘Sorry. You probably think I am mad. I haven’t been very well. I want to know what Penelope’s doing. So much has been happening. Do you know Penelope well? I haven’t seen you before.’
‘No, I don’t know her very well,’ Antonia said.
‘Who were those two men I saw go into the house ten minutes ago? Did Penelope introduce them to you? Sorry. I don’t suppose firing questions at you will endear me to you, will it?’
‘Did you say you were a friend of Lady Tradescant’s?’
‘Well, I was much more than a friend, but things—things seem to have changed. Not my fault. I’ve done nothing. I don’t know why she turned against me. My name is Victor Levant. I am the son of their housekeeper. The Tradescants’ late housekeeper.’
‘You are Mrs Mowbray’s son?’ Antonia looked at him with interest.
‘Yes. Did you know my mother?’
‘I didn’t. But I have—heard about her. I know she—she died. I am sorry.’
‘My mother died last week. That’s when things started going wrong. I don’t really understand it. There was a terrible accident. Did Penelope mention the accident?’
‘No. I read about it in the paper. I am so sorry.’
‘May I talk to you? My car is over there. Please. We could sit inside.’ He pointed. His car was some distance down the street. ‘I need to talk to someone. I don’t know anybody in England. Only Penelope—and now she’s turned against me! You look like a very nice woman. I am sure I can trust you.’
‘You should do nothing of the sort.’ Antonia smiled. ‘Appearances can be extremely deceptive.’
‘I’ve been sitting in my car, watching the house, waiting for Penelope to appear, only she refuses to speak to me. She tells me to go away. I don’t know what I’ve done. I really don’t.’ The young man’s voice shook. ‘Everything was fine and then she—she suddenly changed. Shall we go to my car?’
‘OK, let’s go to your car.’ Antonia didn’t think he was dangerous. She didn’t think he was deranged, just very young, very upset, very confused and, clearly, extremely unhappy. He didn’t seem to have had much sleep recently, poor boy, judging by his drawn pale face and bloodshot eyes. ‘I am sorry about your mother,’ she said after they got inside the car.
‘It was terrible, the way she died, but I hardly knew her. Not at all in fact. As it happens, we were reunited only a couple of months ago.’
‘You have lived abroad of course. Your accent …?’
‘Canadian. I was given away for adoption when I was a baby, you see, so I spent most of my life abroad. Canada. My adoptive parents were very nice people. I don’t think my mother—my real mother—was a very nice person. Would you like a cigarette?’ He produced a packet. ‘I’ll have to smoke, hope you don’t mind. Very few people in England smoke, I notice.’
‘No, thank you. You go ahead. I am used to it.’ She watched him light a cigarette. ‘My husband smokes. He smokes a pipe and occasionally cigars.’
Vic Levant said, ‘You see, my mother—the one who died—didn’t want any children. She gave birth to a number of children, a great number of children, but she gave them all away. She kept producing children and giving them away. She gave us all away. Got a lot of money for us.’
‘Oh dear. Do you know your real father?’
‘No. I don’t think I’d have had much to say to him. He was all for it, apparently. It was my mother’s idea, but he went along with it. Children for sale. He encouraged my mother to produce as many as she could.’ Vic drew on his cigarette. ‘I only came to England last year. My adoptive parents are both dead now. As I said, they were very nice people. I sought my mother out, don’t know why.’
Antonia looked at him. ‘Was that how you met Penelope?’
‘Yes … She was at the house that day … That was the best thing that ever happened to me … She was so sweet.’ Suddenly his features hardened. ‘She let those two men in. I saw them go in. She’s been seeing other men. I saw her talk to a black man. And there was the one she let in. I know I am right to be jealous. I don’t know what’s happening. I really don’t. I thought we were good together, but then it all changed so suddenly. Overnight, literally … I wonder if it’s my fault … It happened on the day her husband died … I’m not making much sense, am I? She suddenly said she didn’t want to see me any more!’
‘Did she give you any reason?’
‘She said it wasn’t safe. She said we mustn’t be seen together. She said we mustn’t see each other. She said I might get into trouble with the police—because of what happened to her husband. That was nonsense of course—I was nowhere near her husband when he died. She then said she needed time to think. She came up with all sorts of excuses! She said we’d better not see each other till after the funeral at least—I am sure you know her husband died?’
‘I do.’
‘Those two men—you saw them, didn’t you? You must have seen them! You were still with her when they went in, weren’t you?’
‘I was, yes. I saw them.’
‘Oh—there they are!’ Vic pointed. ‘Coming out of the house.’
They watched the two men walk up to a car that had been parked at the other end of the street.
‘Both are dark … She likes dark men. She told me.’
‘Those are policemen, Mr Levant.’
‘Policemen?’ He stared at her. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I am sure.’
‘What did they want from her? They don’t think she—that she had anything to do with her husband’s death? She couldn’t have. She was nowhere near Mayholme Manor that day. She was at Heathrow when she got the call.’
‘You were with her?’
‘Yes! Somebody phoned her from Mayholme Manor and told her Sir Seymour had died. The Master. She’d asked me to see her off. She was on her way to the South of France.’
‘Well, that eliminates both of you from the suspects’ list then,’ Antonia said lightly.
‘Did the police think it was me who killed Sir Seymour? Was it me they wanted to talk to Penelope about?’
‘No. It’s nothing like that. You are being paranoid now. I don’t think they know you exist. Besides, no one’s suggested yet that Sir Seymour’s been killed. You have nothing to fear. Did you say you went to Heathrow only to see her off? You weren’t going to the South of France with her then?’
‘No. I wanted to go, but she said no. She said she didn’t want people to start gossiping. Anyway, she never went to the South of France. She had to come back. She had to go to Mayholme Manor. Are you sure the police don’t suspect Penelope of having something to do with her husband’s death?’
‘Positive, Mr Levant. They never mentioned Sir Seymour’s death.’
‘What did they want then?’ Vic persisted.
Antonia hesitated. ‘Well, they seem to think she had something to do with your mother’s death.’