It was some time after two in the afternoon that Antonia received a phone call from Lady Collingwood.
‘I don’t think we have ever been properly introduced, Antonia, but I’ve been dying to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you. I don’t think you were at the Peruvian embassy bash, were you? No, I thought not. I would have remembered. Hugh, of course, I remember vividly. I tend to think of Hugh as of one of the most remarkable men of his generation.’
‘Do you really think so?’
‘I most certainly do! Yes! But I need to thank you first. I’m so terribly grateful to both of you for what you did for Charlie the other night. That meant a lot to me. Do you think we could meet for coffee – or a drink? Would that be at all possible? It would give me tremendous pleasure.’
‘Yes, of course. When?’ Antonia was curious about Lady Collingwood.
‘In the next hour or so? Or is that too soon? You’ll probably think me an awful bore but the fact is – all right, I’ll put my cards on the table. The fact is I am at my wits’ end, Antonia. I am absolutely frantic. I’ve been feeling terribly apprehensive. I need to consult you about something – badly. It’s extremely important. It concerns poor Joan – Charlie’s former inamorata. You see, something happened – there’s been a development, at least I think of it as a development.’
‘What sort of development?’
‘I can’t talk about it over the phone. It’s a very delicate matter – rather distasteful too – I may be completely wrong of course, in fact I hope I am wrong, but, you see, something happened – it concerns Joan and Rupert, my husband –’ At this point Lady Collingwood became quite breathless and she started speaking very fast. ‘A second opinion from someone like you would be most welcome. You have more than proved your credentials. I hold you in the highest regard, Antonia. I think you may be able to advise me. I haven’t talked about it to anybody else –’
They arranged to meet at the cafe in Liberty’s, of which Lady Collingwood said she had fond memories.
‘I am sure I will recognise you,’ Lady Collingwood said. ‘I’ve managed to get hold of one of your books. Your photo is on the back flap.’
‘I am afraid that looks nothing like me,’ Antonia said.
‘I never look right in photos either,’ Lady Collingwood said. ‘I am always taken for someone else. That’s what people tell me. Sometimes I wonder if I lack reliable personal identity … I am sure I will recognise you.’
Lady Collingwood held out her left hand in a jet-black glove. She sported an indigo-coloured hat of the pillbox variety and a little tailored black jacket that managed to be at once sombre and severe, an effect somewhat spoilt by a provocatively plunging neckline and her preternaturally high heels. Lady Collingwood’s hair was a curious silver-brown shade that reminded Antonia of the underwings of a moth. Her face was carefully made-up and she was wearing a very pale mauve lipstick. Her age was impossible to guess. Her mascara-ed eyes, Antonia noticed, did not quite focus.
‘So good of you to agree to meet me. I don’t know what I’d have done if you’d said no. It’s an impossibly difficult situation, so I shall rely on your wisdom and discretion. But you must tell me something first.’ Lady Collingwood lowered her voice. ‘In reference to poor Joan – what’s the latest news?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know anything,’ Antonia said apologetically. ‘We are not in touch with the police.’
‘You aren’t?’
‘No.’
Antonia noticed that there were little whitish crystals sticking to one of Lady Collingwood’s lapels. Sugar? Had Lady Collingwood been eating cake?
‘How perfectly extraordinary. I always imagined that you and Hugh had some very special contacts at Scotland Yard. I’d very much like to think the police are not as stupid and backward as most of us assume. We mustn’t think poorly of the police, must we? I can’t help thinking the killer is some maniac – and it’s got to be a man. What do you think, Antonia? It’s almost invariably a man, isn’t it? Especially when the victim is a young woman.’
‘That’s what statistics tell us – but not invariably.’ Antonia couldn’t bring herself to address Lady Collingwood as ‘Deirdre’, though she had been urged to do so.
‘There were no signs of – interference – of bruising? How terribly peculiar. You mean the killer could be a woman? How very interesting. Sorry – the little waitress has been trying to catch my eye. I hate making people wait, don’t you? What will you have?’
‘I will have a cup of China tea. I can’t face anything else. Plain gunpowder, please.’ Lady Collingwood leant back. ‘You don’t suppose the foreign girl who lives at the house may have done it after all? It occurs to me that she was probably brought up with a completely different set of values. I believe the slaughter of seals is a common practice in her part of Europe, isn’t it?’
‘Is it?’
‘I admit I know next to nothing about her, nothing at all, only that her name is Olga and that she is “breathtakingly beautiful”. That’s what Charlie says. He’s quite taken with her, poor darling. Is Olga “breathtakingly beautiful”?’
‘She is beautiful, yes.’
‘Not one of those primped-and-preened-Park-Avenue-princess types, is she? That look is so irredeemably tacky.’
‘No, not at all. Olga is a natural beauty. She is sweet and charming as well.’
‘Did Hugh think so too? I am so pleased. I wasn’t at all sure. All love-struck young men tend to idealise the object of their affection. Charlie is terribly young and impressionable.’ Lady Collingwood gave a wistful smile.
‘Joan Selwyn was engaged to be married to him, wasn’t she?’
‘Only for a very short while. Charlie broke off the engagement. I never managed to make up my mind about Joan. She was awfully reserved. She was amiable enough, but there was never any question of our becoming “bosom friends”. She was fearsomely efficient. I must admit I found her a little intimidating – even after she dyed her hair blonde. She was Rupert’s secretary for a while. I had no idea then that – that –’ Lady Collingwood broke off. She bit her lip.
‘Yes?’
‘As I told you on the phone, Antonia, I am anxious to talk to you about something that happened, but I can’t. I’m finding it terribly difficult to come to the point. I am a coward.’ Lady Collingwood shook her head. She produced a slim silver cigarette case. ‘I don’t think I will be allowed to smoke here, will I? Actually, I don’t feel like smoking.’ She put the cigarette case back into her bag. ‘What I really feel like doing is bursting into tears.’
‘Is it so awful?’ Antonia believed she could guess where this was heading – though would Lady Collingwood have made such a song and dance about a mere affair between her husband and his secretary? There was clearly more to it.
‘Is it so awful?’ Lady Collingwood echoed. ‘It is, yes. It’s perfectly hideous. No question about it. Unless I am entirely wrong. Well, you see – it is like this – No, I can’t! Sorry but I can’t.’ Her voice shook. ‘I need to calm down first … Oh dear, do people still read Wodehouse? So passé, wouldn’t you say?’ Lady Collingwood had pointed to the book someone was reading at a neighbouring table. ‘I’ve never been able to see the appeal of Wodehouse. Master of language he may be, but all that repetitive silliness! He never varied his plots, did he? Are you familiar with the Restoration dramatist Thomas Otway?’
‘Otway? No, not very. Didn’t he write The Orphan?’
‘Yes. It is also known as The Unhappy Marriage. It was Charlie’s valet who introduced me to him. Such a clever man. Thomas Otway wrote what became known as “she-tragedies” – plays about virtuous and afflicted heroines. And why am I telling you this? It’s because at this very moment I see myself as one of those virtuous and afflicted women.’ Lady Collingwood gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘Do you consider yourself virtuous, Antonia?’
‘No, not particularly. Only moderately so.’
The waitress reappeared bearing a tray and placed it on their table.
Lady Collingwood closed her eyes and laid the tips of her fingers on the lids. ‘Thank you, Antonia. Thank you for not losing patience with me. I’d have lost patience by now if I’d been confronted with me. I brought you here with the promise of a confession, didn’t I? Well, there is a confession coming. I don’t know why I keep putting it off. It’s not fair on you.’
‘Is it so awful?’ Antonia said again.
‘I do wish I had more courage,’ Lady Collingwood whispered. She opened her eyes. ‘You see, I want to believe Joan was killed by a maniac or even by Olga because the alternative is too horrible for words. I hope you will tell me I am imagining things. I can see that you are a sensible person. You’ve got your head screwed on. That’s how I imagined you to be. That’s why I wanted to see you. It’s such a personal thing. It’s about Rupert. I am extremely worried about Rupert. About his state of mind. You see, something happened and I don’t know what to make of it and, honestly, I am terrified.’
‘What happened?’
Lady Collingwood picked up her cup of tea and immediately put it down. Her hands, Antonia noticed, were shaking.
‘It happened last night. I woke up suddenly. I could hear Rupert talking in a very loud voice in his bedroom, which is next door to mine. At first I thought he was on the phone but then I realised he was talking in his sleep. He has done it before. He has problems sleeping. I don’t normally listen but this time I did listen. It was Joan’s name that caught my attention –’