‘It’s the most the remarkable coincidence. In detective stories, of course, remarkable coincidences are regarded as cheating – a lazy way of linking up important plot elements. Discerning readers feel their intelligence has been insulted and they tend to turn against the author. I do my best to avoid them in my books.’ Antonia shook her head. ‘I still can’t quite believe that you and I, independently of each other and on the very same day, should have got involved with the same set of people!’
‘Remarkable coincidences do happen,’ Major Payne said.
‘I meet Charles Eresby and his manservant at the Sylvie & Bruno Nursery School – while you – at the Military Club, of all places – sit drinking coffee with Charlie’s stepfather and hear how, as a result of the manservant’s machinations, Charles Eresby deserted his girlfriend and started an affair with Olga Klimt.’
‘Small world, eh?’
‘Staggeringly small.’
It was the evening of the same day and Antonia and Hugh Payne were at home in Hampstead.
‘But perhaps today’s extraordinary events prove we are meant to get involved in the Olga Klimt affair?’
‘They prove no such thing,’ Antonia said. ‘Coincidences are precisely that, coincidences. Besides, there is no affair to speak of.’
‘No, not yet, but there may be. Joan Selwyn has threatened to kill her. She is said to have got over it but what if she hasn’t? What if she is still obsessed with Charlie? Perhaps she was merely trying to pull the wool over Collingwood’s eyes? Aren’t you tempted to weave one of your dauntingly devious plots round this particular group of characters?’
‘I am not. Besides, they are not characters. They are people.’
‘They are too good to be true. They should be in a book,’ Major Payne said firmly. He produced his pipe. ‘The neurotic young heir to a biscuit fortune, the manipulative manservant, the Aconite-addicted mama, the luminous blonde, jilted Joan Selwyn … Then there’s old Collingwood with his scribbling ambitions and peculiar preoccupation with bad blood …’ Payne reached out for his tobacco jar. ‘I have a confession to make. I am haunted by that name. I can’t get it out of my head.’
‘What name?’
‘Olga Klimt. It’s the kind of name one might find among Freud’s gruesome case histories, wouldn’t you say? “The Case of Olga K.” Freud’s case histories are full of frustrated desires, devious thinking and savage urges, perhaps you’ve noticed?’
‘I have noticed.’
‘Same as in detective stories, actually –’
‘Can’t we talk about something else, Hugh? I don’t feel like talking about detective stories. There’s more to life than detective stories.’ Antonia smiled. ‘Eddy was very funny this morning. He kept asking Miss Frayle questions but then decided he didn’t like her. He doesn’t like to be teased. She is very nice, mind, in a reassuringly bluff, no-nonsense kind of way … Are you looking for your matches?’
‘How do you know I am looking for my matches?’
‘What other reason could there be for patting your pockets, with your pipe clenched between your teeth, your features twisted into a ferocious grimace? You are clearly looking for your matches … They’re by your elbow.’
‘Thank you, darling.’
‘See? We can talk about other things as well, like other people.’
‘You know perfectly well we are not like other people. The Mystery of the Luminous Blonde. Sounds like the title of an Ellery Queen story, doesn’t it? I know you don’t care much for Ellery Queen. Um. How about The Killing of Olga Klimt? That’s better, isn’t it? Pleasantly alliterative. It’s got a ring to it, what do you think? For some reason, I seem to think of Olga Klimt as no longer for this world. Odd, isn’t it?’
‘Very odd.’
‘A lot of very beautiful women die young, I can’t help noticing. Jean Harlow, Marilyn Monroe, Princess Diana. All blondes, as it happens. What is it about blondes that makes them so special?’
‘Gentlemen prefer them … Diana wasn’t a real blonde … You only have to look at those early photos.’
‘Did you know Jean Harlow was actually decapitated? Sorry, darling. I seem to be in a peculiarly morbid mood tonight.’
‘You are in a particularly annoying mood tonight. It wasn’t Jean Harlow who was decapitated. It was Jayne Mansfield.’
‘Of course it was. She was also a blonde! Another blonde! Who do you imagine is most likely to kill Olga Klimt?’
‘No one is going to kill her. I find speculations like that tedious and distasteful.’
Payne looked surprised. ‘Since when? It’s the sort of thing we do all the time. You used to relish thinking up scenarios about people we met on planes and cruises and at hotels and so on.’
‘I don’t any longer. I have grown out of it,’ said Antonia.
‘No, you haven’t. Do let’s assume Joan hasn’t got over Charlie. She told Collingwood that she intended to kill Olga, which makes it look a bit too obvious, but maybe proclaiming her murderous intentions to the world is only part of her cleverness? She says she’s going to kill her, she does kill her, but no one believes it because it’s too obvious?’
‘This has been done before.’
‘You are right, it has. In fact this particular plot-line has the crashing predictability of something produced by a Women’s Institute writing circle.’
‘It isn’t as bad as that, actually. It all depends on the approach …’
‘Let’s consider the valet. Bedaux the blackguard. Though why should he want to kill Olga? You saw him. What’s he like?’
‘I don’t know. I saw him only briefly. Inscrutable. The type that preserves the impassivity of a Madame Tussaud waxwork.’
‘Collingwood’s got his knife into him. Says the fellow’s a scoundrel who deserves to be drawn and quartered, some such thing. Well, Bedaux may be regarding the future Mrs Eresby as a threat, couldn’t he? Wives often take exception to their husbands’ valets and have them sacked. Bedaux may also be a bit in love with his master, so there may be a green-eyed-monster element to his motive as well.’
‘Bedaux may actually be in love with Olga,’ Antonia said.
‘Indeed he may. It was he who introduced her to Charlie, so he’s known her for some time. Jealousy again! Charles Eresby himself should not be excluded from the list of suspects. OK, he is in love with Olga, but what if she has been double-crossing him? A femme fatale like Olga is bound to have an extensive circle of admirers … Incidentally, Vilnius is the capital of Lithuania, isn’t it? Not Riga?’
‘No, not Riga. It’s Vilnius. They have the coldest winters out there. I wonder what it’s like to skate out in the open,’ Antonia said dreamily.
‘Lady Collingwood may also have a motive. She may be strongly opposed to her son marrying a foreign adventuress. She doesn’t seem to mind but that may be a front. Or we could have Joan Selwyn and Lady Collingwood locked in a murderous partnership. It would be a most unlikely pairing. I know you have a penchant for unlikely pairings. I don’t think there have been many murders committed by female tandems. I mean in books … Have there?’
Antonia thought. ‘No, not that many. There are the two women in Ruth Rendell’s A Judgement in Stone … Genet’s The Maids is also a possibility, though that’s not exactly a detective story … What about Lord Collingwood? Could he have a motive?’
‘He’s been thinking of calling on Olga and he may kill her in the course of his visit.’
‘I thought he was fascinated by her.’
‘Oh he is. Very much so. He is dazzled by the very idea of her. That may be his undoing.’ Payne nodded portentously. ‘This is how it happens. He goes to the house in Fulham. All he wants is to take a look at Olga, to see how his mental image of her compares to the reality. He introduces himself as her boyfriend’s stepfather and she lets him in. Collingwood finds her impossible to resist and makes a pass at her but is rebuffed. He attempts to ravish her – she fights back – he flies into a rage and hits her – she falls down, bangs her head on the fender and is instantly killed.’
‘That would be a sordid case of manslaughter … Why do they call that kind of story “witty, civilised and amusing”, I simply can’t imagine. It is nothing of the sort,’ Antonia said with an exasperated sigh.