If I can’t have her, no one else will.
I must admit I am extremely upset. Or this is what I believe being ‘extremely upset’ feels like. I remember that when I was a boy, I never cried.
Although at the moment I am quite unable to smile, the irony of my predicament has not escaped me. I feel very much the way Mr Eresby felt the day Olga told him she was breaking up with him. Mr Eresby, you may wish to remember, found his misery so acute, so unbearable, that he asked me to kill Olga Klimt for him.
I keep thinking about Olga Klimt’s duplicity, about her lies, about the game she played with me. I then recall her kisses and tender caresses and, like Mr Eresby before me, I am filled with the desire for revenge.
I hold out my hands before me. I flex my fingers. I clench my hands into fists.
I want her dead. I want Olga Klimt dead.
The moment I think it, I feel better.
Beauty that is unfamiliar as it is perilous …
Making up his mind not to see Olga Klimt had been the right decision, of that he had no doubt, one should never take risks with girls like that, yet he felt quite unable to stop himself wondering whether his mental image of her matched the reality or not. He was of course going to see her when Charlie condescended to formally introduce her to his mother and to him, which was bound to happen at some point if there was going to be a wedding.
Lord Collingwood glanced at his watch. Risks, yes. Girls of that sort were known to make claims and cause trouble. He considered himself a man of the world but he was also a cautious man. He had after all a position to maintain. She might decide to complain that he had ravished her or some such ugly accusation, the papers were full of stories these days, or she might try blackmailing him. Better be safe than sorry and not visit Olga.
He was sitting at a table at Richoux’s in Piccadilly, waiting for Joan Selwyn. He needed to concentrate. Producing a pad and a silver pen from his pocket, he wrote a little memo to himself. Essential employ every bit of eloquence in case of sudden opposition.
He had it all carefully mapped out in his head, the precise words he would use …
It was so frightfully important!
(Later he was to give Payne a detailed account of his meeting with Joan Selwyn.)
Suddenly he saw her walking towards him. He held his breath. This, he reflected, was how Judith, of Holofornes decapitation notoriety, must have looked: an air of gravity, head high, chin resolute, lips pursed, eyes serious and steady. He felt his scalp prickle. He shivered. No, he wasn’t being fanciful, dammit. There was something ruthless about Joan.
‘Ah, my dear,’ he said, rising and kissing her cheek. ‘There you are.’
‘I am sorry I am late,’ Joan said.
‘I’m so terribly glad to see you, my dear. I do apologise if I strike you as a bit on the low side but I slept badly. Besides, facing Deirdre across the breakfast table is always an unsettling experience.’
‘She seems to be jealous of me!’
‘She is jealous, yes. Went on and on about it. I almost wished we were having an affair! Ha ha! Flattering, in a way, shows one’s wife does care, but such a damned bore! You should have seen her this morning as she sat gulping down cups of some superior black coffee. So magnificently groomed, so admirably garbed, so tantalisingly aloof! Some people I know find Deirdre extremely attractive.’
‘Not Billy. Billy said Deirdre had all the allure of a cold hip bath. He’s seen her somewhere, at some matinee, I think. She was pointed out to him.’
‘Billy?’ Lord Collingwood’s left eyebrow went up. ‘Is that your new beau? So he does exist! Hoorah!’
She pursed her lips slightly. ‘Did you think he was a figment of my imagination?’
‘I did wonder! You know I only want what’s best for you! Such a relief! Jolly glad to know you are moving on, my dear.’
‘What did you want to see me about, Rupert?’
He looked at her with mock solemnity. ‘Well, Joanie, you promised to do something for me? You haven’t forgotten, have you, my dear?’
‘Oh that. Of course I haven’t forgotten. I said I would help you, didn’t I? You don’t have to worry. You know I always do what I say. Who is this mysterious friend anyway?’
‘He’s an old fool,’ Lord Collingwood said with a sigh. ‘But he’s done me several tremendous favours, so I feel under an obligation of sorts. I know the whole thing’s rather awkward, but I didn’t have the heart to say no, my dear.’
‘Who is he?’
‘He’d rather he remained anonymous, if you don’t mind. I’ve been sworn to secrecy.’
Joan Selwyn tried to hide her exasperation. ‘It’s such an incredible story. Are you sure he wasn’t making it up?’
‘I don’t see why he should want to send us on a wild goose chase, do you?’
‘He may have some sinister motive.’
‘No, no. I am convinced his request is entirely bona fide. He is an old fool. Ah there’s the waiter, at long last! Service in London is no longer what it used to be. What would you like, my dear?’
‘Just a cup of coffee. No, nothing to eat.’
‘I’ll have some scrambled eggs on toast. Feel ravenous. Hardly touched a thing this morning! Deirdre, on the other hand, kept stuffing herself with kedgeree. She generates such tension, you wouldn’t believe it.’ Lord Collingwood shook his head. ‘She didn’t want me to go out. If she could have her own way, she would keep me under lock and key!’
Fenella Frayle rose abruptly from her desk. Walking across her study, she locked her door. She then went up to a cupboard in the corner and producing a brand-new bottle of brandy, poured herself a glass. She took a resolute sip, then another.
She shut her eyes.
This is so unlike me, she thought as she raised the glass to her lips for the third time.
She could hear the children singing ‘An Impossible Dream’.
To fight the unbeatable foe –
The unbeatable foe was of course Aunt Clo-Clo. Aunt Clo-Clo had been on the phone to Fenella about half an hour earlier – once again ranting and raving – it had been worse than usual, actually –
‘I am giving you till Halloween to clear out. That’s my final word. A letter from my solicitors is on the way.’
Fenella shut her eyes. She was certainly capable of killing Aunt Clo-Clo. Was she capable of killing Olga Klimt? No one could kill a perfect stranger, could they? Not unless they were mad. But she wasn’t mad. She was the most sensible, the most rational person who ever walked the earth! But imagine – just imagine – for argument’s sake – she did kill Olga Klimt – what guarantee was there that Charles Eresby would reciprocate?
Fenella took another sip of brandy. No guarantee at all. Chances were that the biscuit heir had forgotten all about his plan by now. But the killing of Olga Klimt might spur him on. It might.
I could blackmail him, Fenella thought. He wouldn’t like it if I told the police we’d agreed to exchange murders. I could actually say that he’d paid me to kill his girlfriend. The heir to the Eresby biscuit millions wouldn’t want the publicity, would he?
She laughed. It wouldn’t work! All he’d need to do was deny the allegation. It would be her word against his. The whole thing was quite absurd!
She took another sip. He had sounded extremely serious and matter of fact. He had asked her where Aunt Clo-Clo lived, how old she was, what her habits were, whether she had an established routine. He had sounded as though he meant business …
‘I do your murder, you do mine. We establish good, solid alibis for the murders that benefit us – we go away – thousands of miles away – the Amazonian Jungle – Acapulco – the police would never get us –’
Yes, he had sounded as though he meant business.
She kept her eyes firmly shut. It occurred to her that the present moment was perfect for the killing of Olga Klimt since Charles Eresby was at a private clinic, with doctors and nurses watching over him like hawks round the clock. She might never get another chance as good as this! He didn’t have to go to as far as Acapulco. When Olga’s body was found, he would have the perfect alibi.