CHAPTER FIVE

The Fabrics Club

1

Either he required an incredible amount of smoking and soaking or he deliberately kept out of the way until she had admitted Alan and had begun her explanations. Just as she expected, Alan was sceptical and obviously thought she was being influenced by something dreamt up by a crackpot.

‘I must say, Dr Salt,’ Alan told him, about seventy-five seconds after she had introduced them, ‘so far as I can understand it, this all seems a bit thick.’ His manner wasn’t hostile, but neither was it friendly.

‘It’s not a bit thick, it’s a lot thick,’ said Dr Salt, in his amiable sleepy style.

‘I tried all the hotels,’ Maggie interposed hastily. ‘They don’t know anything about my father. And Alan found his passport at home.’

‘In any case,’ said Alan, ‘can you see him going to the South of France? He hadn’t enough money anyhow. Besides, he just wouldn’t. Why shouldn’t he have asked a few questions about this mysterious girl – your ex-patient—’

‘Noreen Wilks.’ Dr Salt seemed to like repeating her name, rather slowly and grimly. Already it was beginning to irritate Maggie. Blast Noreen Wilks!

‘Noreen Wilks,’ said Alan. ‘Why shouldn’t he have asked a few questions about her and then gone on to do something else?’

‘What? Where?’

‘Well, of course, I don’t know. But I don’t see that Maggie and I have to bother about this Noreen Wilks.’

‘No, you haven’t, but I have. You don’t care about Noreen Wilks, I don’t care about your father. Very well, let’s leave it at that.’

‘No – please,’ cried Maggie urgently. ‘I’m sure there must be some connection. Alan doesn’t understand yet—’

‘What don’t I understand?’ He gave Maggie a glance, then looked at Dr Salt.

‘I want to leave Birkden as soon as I can,’ said Dr Salt. ‘But I’m not going until I know what happened to Noreen Wilks. She was a patient – an unusual patient – and I still feel responsible for her. You can understand that, can’t you, Culworth?’

‘Yes – of course – but—’

‘Never mind the buts for the moment. Listen to this. Noreen Wilks left her lodging on the evening of September 12th, dressed for a party, and never went back. She’s never been heard of since. Early on the morning of the 13th, Derek Donnington, only son of Sir Arnold Donnington, head of United Anglo-Belgian Fabrics and Birkden’s Mr Big, shot himself. The official verdict was Accidental Death, but we can ignore that. Well, that might be a coincidence. It might be another coincidence that when your father arrives on Monday to ask about Noreen, he suddenly disappears. It might be another coincidence that the cinema girl he saw, and the one I questioned yesterday, cleared out in a panic last night. It might be still another coincidence that the young man who warned me to leave Birkden was the one who said something to her. Now I don’t know what happens in physics, Culworth, but in medicine we don’t like as many coincidences as that. Finally, I’ll tell you what I believe, though I’ve no proof. While I don’t suppose for a moment that anything very serious has happened to your father, I believe Noreen Wilks is dead.’

Alan raised his right eyebrow and took his pipe out of his mouth as if to examine it – one of his donnish tricks. ‘Isn’t that going much too far?’

‘Possibly. It’s just possible that she’s been to a doctor who’s never got in touch with me. It’s just possible her condition isn’t as serious as I thought it was. Perhaps Noreen and your father are laughing their heads off somewhere—’

‘I’m sure that isn’t true,’ Alan said sharply.

‘You believe it isn’t. So do I. And I also believe Noreen Wilks is dead. Now I’m going to ask a few questions at the Fabrics Club. You’re welcome to come with me. You may notice things that I miss.’

‘We might as well, Alan,’ said Maggie. ‘I’m certain now Daddy came here to inquire about Noreen Wilks. And, after all, that’s what Dr Salt is doing. And what else can we do?’

‘I don’t know.’ Alan looked unhappy. ‘But we’ve nothing to do with this Fabrics Club. Aren’t we going to look silly—’

Dr Salt bounced out of his chair. ‘Let’s look silly, then. I haven’t cared a damn for years about looking silly. Are you coming or not?’

‘I am,’ Maggie told him.

‘I’ve got my car. I’ll follow you.’ Alan didn’t sound downright sulky, but obviously he was still sceptical. ‘Do you know where it is?’

‘I’ve never been there, but I know vaguely where it is,’ said Dr Salt. ‘And I’ll drive fairly slowly.’

When they were in his car and moving off, Maggie said to him: ‘I know you don’t like talking when you’re driving, but perhaps you don’t mind listening. I want to explain about Alan. He’s not really against you. The point is, he’s just come from his University and lecture room and physics lab, and he’s suddenly plunged into all this – and so far he hasn’t – sort of – absorbed any of the atmosphere. He’s still in his particular world where you don’t expect anything strange to happen to anybody.’

‘Except the H-Bomb,’ Dr Salt muttered.

‘I know. I’ve argued with Alan and some of his friends about that. There’s a kind of innocence about them in some ways. Perhaps because they’ve always been in school or college, never where people are thinking about money all the time. He often makes me feel years older than he is.’

Dr Salt made a grunting noise. Apparently he didn’t care how old any of the Culworths were.

‘Actually, Alan’s four years older.’

This time he didn’t even grunt. Not interested.

‘And, anyhow, I can’t altogether blame Alan,’ she went on, determined now to make him show some interest. ‘You know, Dr Salt, you do pile it on a bit. Every time you say Noreen Wilks, you make it sound as if you thought she’d been murdered.’

‘Do I? Sorry!’

‘Oh – I know you don’t mean to. Why would anybody—’

‘I’m driving,’ he cut in ruthlessly.

Furious with him, and feeling compelled to do something, she looked back to see if Alan was following them. He was. Then she stared ahead at the darkening streets of Birkden, almost expecting them to begin looking quite different. But they refused to look sinister and mysterious. Birkden wore the same face it had worn when she had come in by bus a few hours ago – only a few hours, though now she felt as if she had spent days with Dr Salt.

2

They were passing semi-detached villas and larger houses in their own grounds, softening the edge of town and country. Soon they were moving alongside the vast bulk of the United Fabrics works – she remembered then that the firm had moved almost into the country some years ago – and at the imposing entrance Dr Salt stopped to ask a man on duty there the way to the Club. His directions took them up a road that might still have been almost a country lane. They turned into a drive and parked in a wide space, where there were only a few other cars, not far from a lighted doorway.

‘Now what?’ said Alan rather grumpily as he joined them.

‘We go in,’ Dr Salt told him. ‘I can do the talking.’

‘It doesn’t look very busy,’ said Maggie.

‘Early yet,’ Dr Salt said. ‘Anyhow, it may be one of their quiet nights. And so much the better.’

He led the way in. There was no porter just inside the door – Maggie had expected one because she had been to several mixed clubs with Hugh – but there was a place where a porter ought to have been, so perhaps he wasn’t on duty yet. Dr Salt did not hesitate, but went forward and opened a door into soft lights and soft music. It was a cocktail bar, charmingly lit, and decorated and furnished in an unfussy modern style, rather Scandinavian. There was plenty of space in front of the curved bar counter, where the white-coated barman and his array of bottles took most of the light, but all round the walls were low tables and rather low chairs and banquettes, variously upholstered in what were probably the most magnificent specimens of United Fabrics’ fabrics. Nobody was sitting at the tables, but three people, two smart young men and an even smarter girl, were standing at the bar. The muted violins, the melancholy clarinets, that had been taped somewhere in New York or Los Angeles, went on and on, as they did now all over the world, saying that life and love were rather sweet, but that nothing really mattered very much. Maggie thought she heard Dr Salt muttering curses on them.

Now the three at the bar could be overheard. One of the young men was saying that somebody was projecting the wrong image.

‘You and your images!’ cried the girl wearily. ‘Do you mind?’

‘Come off it, ducky. As if you didn’t know what it was all about.’

‘Do I? Since when?’

‘Since you were about fifteen, I’d say.’

‘And you’d be quite wrong, Alec.’ This was the second man. ‘But where the hell’s Kate?’

‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ said the girl. ‘Every time she starts doing her face, she begins thinking about something else.’

‘Do we know what?’

‘As a matter of fact, you don’t,’ the girl told him. ‘Because even I don’t.’

‘Let’s go in, then,’ said Alec. ‘George, if a Miss Tiller asks for me, tell her we’ve gone in. I’ve already signed for her.’ The three were now moving slowly towards a door on the left of the bar. ‘They’re very sticky about that, here.’

‘And quite right too,’ said the other young man. ‘God knows what would be blowing in!’

Maggie knew very well that this was not aimed at her and her two men. The young man had never noticed them. But the remark did not make her feel any better. In these surroundings, still wearing her shop clothes, and after taking one look at that girl, she felt small, shabby, dreary. As Dr Salt went slowly towards the bar counter, she sat on the edge of the nearest chair, beckoning to Alan to sit down. But he persisted in leaning against the wall, just inside the doorway, and in glaring at nothing in particular, feeling – as she knew without any doubt – a perfect fool. That was simply because he knew he had no right to be there and might be ordered out at any moment. But the whole snooty place wasn’t telling him that his face and hair were wrong, his clothes and shoes wrong, that he was just a miserable little drear; which was what it had been busy doing to her. She now watched and listened to Dr Salt, who was leaning against the bar counter and had been lighting his pipe. He might be – indeed, he obviously was – a maddening man, but there was one thing about him – he didn’t seem to care a damn.

‘My name’s Salt,’ he told the barman very carefully. ‘Dr Salt.’

‘Oh yes.’ The barman was fairly young and had a crew cut; his face seemed wider across the jaw than across the forehead. Maggie had been against him from the first glance.

‘Are you Tony?’ asked Dr Salt.

‘No. Tony’s not here any longer.’

‘Oh – what a pity!’

‘Most people don’t think so. I took his place.’

‘I see.’ Dr Salt sounded vague and rather stupid. ‘Though I don’t really know Tony. He was mentioned to me by a friend of mine.’

‘Is that so? Well, I don’t think you’re a member, are you?’

‘Oh – no, not at all.’ Dr Salt gave a little laugh that Maggie had never heard before and instantly disbelieved in. ‘Though I don’t know why I said not at all, because either one would be a member or not a member – one could hardly be partly a member. No, I’m not.’

‘I got it the first time. Well, I can’t serve you a drink unless you’re a member.’

‘I don’t want a drink.’

‘What do you want, then? And are those two with you?’

‘Yes, friends of mine. Miss Culworth. And Dr Culworth – of the University of Hemtonshire.’ Dr Salt sounded idiotic. ‘They’re just waiting for me. And I’d like to speak to your manager – Mr Dews, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. Does he know you?’

‘I’m afraid not. Hardly anybody knows me.’

‘I doubt if he’ll see you.’

‘One of us could try, couldn’t we? That is, if he’s here tonight.’

‘Yes, Mr Dews is here.’

‘Where – may I ask?’

‘In there.’ The barman indicated a door in the wall to the right of the bar.

Dr Salt looked as if he were about to move in that direction. ‘Oh – well – perhaps if I knock – and then ask nicely—’

‘He wouldn’t like it.’

‘Hates being disturbed, does he?’

‘If he’s busy, he does. And most times he’s very busy. Has all this place on his hands. No joke, I can tell you. I wouldn’t change jobs with him.’ The barman glanced to his left. ‘Oh – you’re lucky. He’s coming out. Oh, Mr Dews,’ he called. ‘This is Dr Salt, and he’d like a word with you.’

‘But of course – of course.’ Mr Dews came tripping, rosy and smiling, into the brighter light illuminating the bar. He wore a charcoal-grey suit, black suède shoes, a dusty-pink tie, and his hair in bronzed waves. A pretty youth probably about forty-five; he gave Maggie the creeps even across the room.

‘I’m Donald Dews, Dr Salt. And if you want to see me, here I am. Shall we sit down – or do you prefer to stand? I’ve been sitting down in my office, so I’m quite happy to stand. But why don’t we have a drink?’

‘I’m not a member.’

‘Oh – poor man – you’ve been warned, have you? We just have to be strict here. But, after all, I do run the Club and now you’re my guest—’

‘I’m not alone. Come on, you two.’

Reluctantly Maggie and Alan moved forward and met the other two about halfway to the counter. Dr Salt, who now seemed to talk and behave like somebody else, sounded quite fussy and self-important as he introduced them. ‘Miss Maggie Culworth – Dr Alan Culworth of the University of Hemtonshire, Mr Dews. They live in Hemton – and – believe it or not – they’re here – I mean in Birkden, of course – trying to find their father – Mr – er—’

‘Edward Culworth,’ said Maggie.

‘Mr Edward Culworth,’ said Dr Salt, looking grave and sounding fatuous. ‘They don’t know where he is.’

‘Really – and ought they to? I mean, is there something wrong with him?’ Mr Dews twinkled from Maggie to Alan.

‘No,’ said Alan bluntly. ‘Let’s forget it.’

‘Then do sit down, everybody. At least we can have a quick little drink. Miss Culworth?’ He was now leading them to a table, and by the time they were all sitting down he knew what they wanted to drink. ‘George – a gin and tonic, two Scotches and water – and the usual for me.’ He looked round the table. ‘Campari and vodka. Have you ever tried it?’

‘I could never live up to it,’ said Dr Salt.

‘Now you’re being satirical, Dr Salt. But don’t you like our bar, Miss – er – Culworth?’

‘It’s delightful.’

‘We think so. And you should have seen it when I first took over, three years ago. Like a miners’ canteen. I nearly went out of my tiny mind. Cigarette, anybody? Oh – thank you, George. Well, cheers, dears!’

As they drank, Maggie looked across the table and saw that Alan’s eyes, dark at any time, were now black with resentment and misery. And she still felt small, drab, dull, and she was angry with Dr Salt, disappointed in him too. He should never have brought them here. And, anyhow, he seemed to be behaving like an idiot, as if this Fabrics Club had gone to his head.

‘Well, now, what can I do for you, Dr Salt? Do you want to become a member? We have two doctor members – but they’re connected with the works—’

‘Who are they?’

‘Dr Bennett. You must know him—’

‘Oh – yes. One of Birkden’s bastions. And the other?’

‘A Dr Lemmert. He’s fairly new—’

‘I think I’ve heard the name, Mr Dews.’

‘Now I must tell you – and I know it’s all very tedious and tiresome – that you have to be proposed and seconded by two United Fabrics people on the executive level. But then you must know some of them, Dr Salt.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t, Mr Dews.’ He produced an apologetic little smile. ‘My practice was well below the executive level. However, I don’t want to join the Club. I’m leaving Birkden.’

‘Lucky you! Not that I see much of the place, toiling here the whole time. But how can I help you, then? There must be something.’

‘There is, Mr Dews.’ Dr Salt had now an air of earnest simplicity that set Maggie wondering. ‘It’s a little medical problem I ought to tackle before I leave Birkden. I’m trying to trace a patient of mine – a young girl called Noreen Wilks – and I’m told she used to come here—’

‘Yes, of course. I remember Noreen. Quite a pretty girl, though not very smart, not very bright – rather common, really. But I haven’t seen her for weeks, you know.’

Dr Salt nodded. ‘Nobody seems to have seen her since September 12th, Mr Dews. But on that night, I believe, she came to a party here.’

‘Did she? I can’t remember. There’s so much to-ing and fro-ing here, as you can imagine. But we can soon find out if she did, Dr Salt. You see – party or no party – everybody who isn’t a member must be signed in. It’s our strictest rule, Doctor – absolutely cast-iron. And, of course, little Noreen isn’t a member. So if she was here that night, she’ll be in the Book. And we must look and see, mustn’t we? I hope this isn’t too boring for you, Miss – er – Culworth. Excuse me. George, have you the Book or have I?’

‘It’s here. Coming over.’ The book he brought to the table was about two feet square, rather thin, and bound in limp blue leather.

‘Now here we are – the Sacred Book.’ Dews opened it. ‘What date did you say, Dr Salt?’

‘September 12th.’

‘September 12th – September 12th. This is it – and as you quite rightly said, we had one of our dreadful parties that night. Look – all those impossible names. Customers, of course. Not that the parties really are dreadful – they’re quite good as parties go – but of course it’s a frantic amount of work for poor me. And it’s all a lot of salesmanship really – rather sordid, don’t you think? Well now, I can’t find a trace of little Noreen here. But please do check the list yourself.’

And Dr Salt did, very carefully. ‘No, Mr Dews. Her name’s not here.’

‘Definitely not, is it? I’m so sorry, Doctor. Evidently Noreen hadn’t been invited that night. And you do understand, don’t you, that I’ve nothing whatever to do with all that? I’m simply a kind of slave who has to make sure that the people who are invited – and the members, of course – are provided with sickening amounts of food and drink. But there it is. Noreen wasn’t here. Perhaps she’d already run off with somebody. She always seemed to me rather a flighty little thing—’

There he stopped, because somebody had arrived. She was an impressive smart type, wearing a rather severely cut suit, but of soft fine wool, darkish yellow, and a lighter yellow scarf. And then Maggie remembered her from that afternoon in the shop. This was Jill Frinton.

Mr Dews had jumped up. ‘Jill darling – you’re the very person we want—’

‘Hold it, Donald darling,’ said Miss Frinton, crisp and dry as a biscuit. ‘Do you have a message for me, George?’

‘Yes, Miss Frinton.’ The barman found a note and read from it. ‘Mr Linsdale’s secretary told me on the phone I was to tell you, if you came in, that Mr Linsdale will be ringing you at home tonight from New York.’

‘Thanks, George.’ She came towards their table. ‘Well, Donald darling, why am I the very person you want?’

‘I’ll explain in a moment, darling. But first, let me introduce Dr Salt – Miss Jill Frinton. Oh – I’m so sorry, Miss Culworth. This is—’

‘We’ve met before somewhere, haven’t we?’ said Miss Frinton, cutting in sharply.

‘Yes. In our bookshop at Hemton,’ said Maggie. ‘This is my brother Alan, who also happened to be in the shop that afternoon—’

‘Oh – well – you wouldn’t remember,’ Alan began.

‘Yes, I do.’ She awarded him a dazzling smile. She wouldn’t miss a trick, this one, Maggie told herself. Poor old Alan – now what?

‘You see, Jill darling,’ Dews told her, ‘Dr Salt’s been inquiring about your little Noreen Wilks—’

‘Not mine. I’m not having that.’

‘Do be co-operative, dear. We’re all trying to do our best to help Dr Salt. She was one of your assorted bits and pieces. And Dr Salt says she’s been missing since September 12th, one of our party nights. But she didn’t attend our party that night because her name’s not in the precious Book.’

‘You’ve looked, have you, Dr Salt?’ A sympathetic tone and smile for him.

‘Yes, Miss Frinton. A dead end here, I’m afraid.’ He sounded sad, defeated.

‘Oh – poor man! I’m sorry.’ Did she exchange a brilliant glance with Dews? Anyhow, Maggie could have slapped her.

‘Miss Frinton, I wonder,’ Dr Salt began, with an appealing look, ‘if you’d be kind enough to allow us to call on you later this evening – say, about nine o’clock? I promise not to take up much of your time. It would be a great favour.’

‘If you think I can be of any help, Dr Salt – why of course. I’ll have to be there, anyhow, to take my New York call. Nine o’clock will be splendid. I live at 6 Cadogan Mansions – it’s a big newish block of flats on the Hemton Road. And, anyhow, I’m in the phone book. Nine o’clock, then.’

‘Thank you so much. And thank you for the drink and for being so helpful, Mr Dews. Maggie – Alan – let’s go.’

Dr Salt said nothing to her and Alan until they reached the cars. ‘No talk now, please,’ he said briskly. ‘I want you to dine with me. Usually I cook for myself, but now there isn’t time. We’re not going to eat any of this hotel muck. I know a little place where they do nothing but simple grills, but they do them very well. I hope you’re hungry. Alan – keep close behind, as you did coming here. I’ll drive slowly. It’s not an easy place to find.’

3

He drove back into the town and ended in a short street not far from the centre. The place looked like an ordinary house and not at all like a restaurant, though it had a small sign saying Pete’s Grills. Maggie had a wash and did her face in a bathroom on the first floor. Then she found the men sitting at one of two tables in a small room at the back. The other table was occupied by two fat men and a fat woman, who seemed to be eating, drinking, talking and roaring or screaming with laughter all at the same time. Pete was an oldish man with one arm and one eye and an enormous leathery face, rather like a retired pirate. He seemed to be a friend of Dr Salt’s.

‘What fillet steak I’ve got isn’t worth the money,’ he told them in a curious hoarse whisper, as if he had lost part of his voice as well as an eye and an arm. ‘I’d be robbing you. I’ve a chump chop or two – never without – but if you want to make me happy, as well as yourselves, you’ll ask me for three of my Special Mixed Grills. A green salad and a touch of cheese afterwards – eh?’ Now he concentrated on Maggie. ‘I’ve no licence, young lady – wicked, isn’t it? – but it just happens that last time he was here Dr Salt left a bottle of Burgundy behind – must have clean forgotten it—’

‘Hurry up and open it, Pete, and let it breathe,’ said Dr Salt. ‘And if Maisie’s baked any bread, rush it here with plenty of butter.’

‘Can do,’ Pete whispered. And off he went.

‘Knew him years ago – in Penang,’ said Dr Salt. He seemed to be closing, not opening a subject of talk. He slumped back in his chair and did not seem inclined to say anything else. Perhaps he was thinking about Penang.

Maggie saw that Alan was beginning to wriggle, as he nearly always did when he was feeling embarrassed. ‘What’s the matter, Alan?’

‘I was thinking about that visit of ours to the Club. Surely that was a complete dead loss, wasn’t it?’

‘I don’t know.’ Though, of course, she felt that it had been. ‘And, after all, you saw the Frinton girl again, didn’t you? Come on. I noticed you. Your eyes were sticking out of your head.’

‘No, they weren’t. And, anyhow, she was laughing at us. I’m sorry, Dr Salt, but she was – and so was that pansy manager – Dews.’

‘Then perhaps our visit wasn’t a complete dead loss,’ said Dr Salt mildly. ‘In point of fact, it was highly successful.’

They both stared at him. ‘I must say, I don’t see that,’ said Maggie.

‘You will when I talk to Miss Frinton. We shall make some headway tonight, you’ll see. Ah – Pete – bread and wine – not a bad first course.’ Pete had wheeled in a trolley. Maggie watched him, fascinated; he was quicker with one arm than most waiters were with two. She was hungry and the homemade bread was delicious. She realized that Dr Salt did not want to talk about the Club and Noreen Wilks and their lost father, so she asked him when he had been in Penang, though she couldn’t remember where Penang was. At least, she felt, this would head off Alan, who was in one of his rare awkward moods, probably because he had been made to look foolish in the presence of the dashing, handsome and detestable Frinton girl.

By asking questions throughout the meal (which was good) she was able to keep Dr Salt talking and Alan quiet. She learnt that Dr Salt, immediately after graduating, had served in Burma, and had then lived and worked in the New Territories, Hong Kong, in North Borneo, Penang and Singapore, and that this practice in Birkden, which he had now done with after seven years, was the first he had ever had in England. And at the end of the meal she was still wondering if he was stupid, clever or just odd.