Charters and Caldicott (9 page)

‘One doesn't court publicity,' said Venables, drifting forward to walk beside Inspector Snow.

‘Official Mourner, my foot!' said Charters angrily as they drew near the graveside.

‘woman born of woman has but a short time to live,' the clergyman began. ‘Like a flower she blossoms and then withers; like a flower she flees and never stays. In the midst of life we are in death; to whom can we turn for help, but to you, Lord, who are justly angered by our sins?'

For a while, Charters and Caldicott were too distracted by their irritation at these words to notice that first Inspector Snow, then Venables, were staring intently away from the graveside. Caldicott spotted them at last, turned to see what had attracted their attention, then nudged Charters. A man stood on the other side of the boundary railings. It was the chauffeur, respectfully holding his uniform cap under his arm as he followed the last rites. Charters and Caldicott looked at each other, worried, but when they turned back to the railings, the man had gone.

At the graveside, the clergyman had reached the final words of the service. ‘We have entrusted our sister Jennifer to God's merciful keeping, and we now commit her body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of the resurrection of eternal life...'

Venables, in his capacity as Official Mourner, stepped forward and scattered earth over the coffin.

‘If this is Venables' idea of a practical joke, it's in very questionable taste indeed,' said Charters.

‘Well, was I buried in style?' Jenny asked.

‘Like a duchess,' said Caldicott, opening champagne for Jenny, Margaret and himself. ‘The Official Mourner was there.'

‘Who?' Margaret asked incredulously.

‘Just a small courtesy HMG extends on these occasions. Charters wasn't impressed. I was. There we are, my dear,' said Caldicott, handing a glass of champagne to Jenny. ‘Mix well and serve, eh?'

‘What's he muttering about?' said Margaret. ‘If you want a swizzle stick you only have to ask.'

‘No, it wasn't that. It's just a phrase that's been puzzling me. Doesn't mean anything to you?' Jenny shook her head. ‘It was in a note your father left. See what you make of it.' Caldicott produced his copy of Jock's letter and Jenny and Margaret pored over it together.

‘No, I give up,' said Margaret finally.

‘Me too,' said Caldicott. ‘Charters thinks it's one of Jock's teasers, Jenny. You remember how he liked his crossword clues served – the more cryptic the better.'

‘Yes – it's as if he's giving you directions of some kind. You know, like in a treasure hunt.'

‘Exactly what I said to Charters. Look, we do have another copy even if one didn't know it by heart. Would you like to hang onto this, Jenny, and see if inspiration strikes?'

Jenny took the copy but said doubtfully, ‘I'm not very good at this sort of thing. Big flightless bird in three letters is about my level.'

‘Big flightless bird in...' said Caldicott blankly, almost ruining what little reputation he had as a solver of crossword puzzles. ‘Oh, the ubiquitous emu!'

Jenny put down her father's letter and produced some papers of her own. ‘Swap?'

‘What's that?'

‘The Zazz Corporation file on Helen Appleyard, such as it is. I photocopied it.'

Correspondence concerning Helen Appleyard ran to only three pages. There was a letter from her saying that she'd be at Thamesview for a few days and would Darrell be interested in some valuable information about a company in Oldham called Norton and West; a copy of Darrell's reply, the original of which she'd had in her handbag, saying that he would be; and a memo from Zazz's northern manager reporting that he couldn't find a link between Helen Appleyard and Norton and West.

Caldicott scanned the pages then asked. ‘Who Norton and West?'

‘We looked them up,' said Margaret. ‘Old-established family firm bottling lemonade.'

‘Sounds as foul a temperance brew as Zazz.' Caldicott raised his glass. ‘I'll stick to the devil I know. Chin chin.'

‘Cheers. I must say this is better than a ham tea, Caldicott. You must go to more funerals.'

‘Cheers.' Jenny sipped her drink and shivered. ‘Someone walking over my grave.'

‘Helen Appleyard's chauffeur chum, I shouldn't wonder,' said Caldicott. ‘That's someone else who turned up today.'

‘At the actual funeral?' Jenny asked.

‘Hovered on the touch-line. Which indicates that he's put two and two together and savvied that it's not our Jenny Beevers who's dead but his Helen Appleyard.'

‘He was bound to work that out, unless he has an IQ of zero,' said Margaret robustly, adding reassuringly to Jenny, ‘It's all right. He can't possibly know you're here.'

‘All the same, I'm not altogether happy about leaving her alone for the weekend,' said Caldicott.

‘She's got a fridge full of food, a bottle of gin and orders to keep the chain on the door and watch telly till we get back.'

‘See that you do, my girl,' said Caldicott sternly. He looked again at the photocopies she'd brought. ‘What do you suppose can be the connection between Zazz, Helen Appleyard and this Norton and West outfit?'

‘If we knew that, ducky, we wouldn't be letting ourselves in for a weekend with Josh Darrell,' said Margaret.

‘Here we are, Charters,' Caldicott called, spotting him at last, half-hidden behind a trolley stacked high with enough suitcases to last a world cruise. He waved to attract his attention.

Charters completed the long trek down the station platform and drew up beside the open door of the first-class carriage. ‘I hardly imagined you'd be in the guard's van,' he snapped, out of breath and uncomfortably hot in his country tweeds and ancient fishing hat. ‘Give me a hand with these, would you, Caldicott? The profession of railway porter seems to be a thing of the past.'

Huffing and puffing, they chain-ganged the suitcases into the modern, open-plan carriage. Charters and Caldicott, unfamiliar with the lay-out, spent some time locating the luggage spaces, cunningly hidden between seats and in separate compartments at each end. Margaret Mottram, sitting coolly and cosily with a copy of
Country Life
, watched their exertions with amusement. ‘What, no cabin trunk?'

‘My dear Mrs Mottram, when you've knocked about as much as I have, you'll realise the benefits of travelling light,' said Charters. Is that
The Times
, Caldicott? I left mine behind. Pass it over, there's a good chap.'

Caldicott had been about to settle down with it but he handed it over, though with ill grace, just as the guard came down the platform slamming doors. As the whistle went, Cecil St Clair, wearing a Chelsea boutique's version of country clothes, complete with leather patches, pleated pockets and mysterious flaps, and carrying an expensive weekend case, hurried through the barrier and ran for the train. He leaped aboard the last carriage and passed through the train until he came to the crowded first-class section where Charters was doing the crossword in Caldicott's
Times
, Margaret was engrossed in her magazine and Caldicott was twiddling his thumbs – literally. St Clair paused in the aisle beside them.

‘By all means,' said Caldicott in answer to St Clair's smile and inquiring glance at the empty seat beside him. St Clair tucked his case under the seat, sat down and unfolded his
Financial Times
. Charters, who didn't care for strangers, looked grumpy.

The train travelled some distance without a word from anyone, then Charters broke the silence. ‘Five down. Could low joint be ankle?'

‘I've really no idea, old man,' Caldicott said huffily. ‘I haven't had an opportunity to look at the crossword this morning.' Charters grunted. Caldicott, after sulking for a bit, relented and asked, ‘What progress has that razor-sharp mind made on “Mix Well and Serve”?'

Charters didn't look up from his crossword. ‘Very little so far, I'm afraid. It'll come, Caldicott, never fear.'

‘Hm. Are you going to be all day with that
Country Life
, Margaret?'

‘I've only just started it!'

Charters rustled Caldicott's
Times
impatiently. ‘Do you mean to say you haven't brought anything to read?'

‘Really!' Caldicott exploded but before he had time to lodge a strong protest, St Clair leaned over and offered him his
Financial Times
. ‘Oh, if you've finished with it, very kind of you. Very kind of you indeed.' Caldicott was not familiar with the
Financial Times
. He opened it with every expectation of pleasure but his expression soon changed to one of strained concentration and then to total bafflement. He might as well have been reading
Micro-Chip Monthly
for all the sense it made to him. Finally he admitted defeat, lowered the newspaper and began to play a little game of blowing up his nostrils.

‘Margaret,' said Caldicott when the amusement palled.

‘
Yes
, Caldicott,' said Margaret, irritated.

‘What was the name of that lemonade factory up in Oldham again? Old-fashioned sounding place – puts me in mind of those matchstick-men paintings by what's-he-called.'

‘Lowry,' said Charters.

‘No, that wasn't it.'

‘Norton and West,' said Margaret.

‘Got it. They make some concoction known as Birdade. Ever heard of them, Charters?'

Charters had noticed that St Clair seemed to be taking an interest in their conversation. ‘
Pas devant la domestique
,' he warned in schoolboy French.

‘Oh, quite,' said Caldicott hastily.

‘No,
not
quite, my dear sir. Do I look like a female domestic servant?' St Clair asked. ‘By the way, you need have no fear of my blabbing your confidences. Your conversation is double Dutch to me.'

‘I beg your pardon,' said Charters.

‘Please do not mention it.'

Deeply embarrassed, Charters and Caldicott buried themselves in their newspapers. Margaret winked at Caldicott from behind her magazine.

St Clair carefully broke a bar of chocolate into pieces and offered some to Margaret who declined with a smile. Charters, glancing up from his crossword, shook his head politely. St Clair gave up and popped a square into his own mouth before he noticed that Caldicott was gazing at him longingly, like a spaniel under the dinner table. Caldicott gratefully accepted St Clair's belated offer.

‘And, by the way, I was so anxious not to miss my train – it does stop at Percival St Mary?' St Clair asked, taking advantage of the slight thaw in the atmosphere.

‘I sincerely hope so, otherwise we're all in trouble,' said Caldicott.

‘You're going there also?'

‘The whole pack of us,' said Caldicott, ignoring Charters' disapproval of his getting into conversation with strange foreigners.

‘Incidentally, it is a most pleasant spot.'

‘So I believe.'

‘Worth a detour, as Michelin would say.' St Clair translated, for the benefit of Charters, the French expert of the company, ‘
Merite un detour.
'

‘Very probably,' said Charters, burying himself deeper in
The Times
.

Margaret decided to be polite. ‘Do you live there?'

‘On the contrary, this is my première visit.' St Clair offered some more chocolate to Caldicott who took another piece and said, ‘Ah, misunderstood.'

‘I'm sorry. My English is not very good.'

‘Your English is perfect, old lad. I meant we got hold of the wrong end of the stick in thinking you were well acquainted with the place.'

‘As to that, I've heard all about it from my host.'

‘Then you're staying there,' Margaret asked.

‘Now you have the right end of the stick. Yes, at the Old Priory. Do you know it possibly?'

‘Good Lord! Talk about small worlds!' said Caldicott.

‘You are going there also?'

‘We certainly are,' said Margaret. ‘To stay with Josh Darrell.'

‘The smallest of worlds, as you say.'

‘Well, well, well. Well, on that note, I think we'd better introduce ourselves,' said Caldicott heartily. ‘Mrs Mottram.' St Clair half rose and clicked his heels. ‘Charters.' St Clair repeated the performance and Charters, not to be outdone in civility, also half rose, but naturally omitted the heel­clicking. ‘And I'm Caldicott.'

‘Saint Clair,' their fellow guest announced with a final clicking of heels.

‘Sinclair,' said Charters, not quite catching it.

‘If you'll permit me –
Saint Clair
. It is an unusual form of the name, by the way.'

‘Most unusual,' said Charters drily. ‘Well, if we're all house guests together that puts us on a quite different footing. I'll accept some of that chocolate, if I may.' To Caldicott's great annoyance, Charters reached over and took St Clair's last piece.

The atmosphere became almost genial and as the train sped through open countryside, the four engaged in desultory conversation, St Clair, apparently a compulsive eater, carefully peeled an apple with a Swiss Army knife and said, ‘As a matter of fact, our host is a most entertaining fellow.'

‘So Mrs Mottram tells us,' said Caldicott. ‘Charters and I have not yet had the pleasure.'

St Clair turned to Margaret. ‘Do you know him well, by the way?'

‘Business acquaintances. Do
you
– by the way?' Margaret asked, deadpan but mocking.

‘Not frightfully well. You know, we spent some little time together in Hong Kong, just a few months ago. Mr Darrell made himself most agreeable. ‘Really!' said Caldicott, suddenly alert.

‘Really. Charming fellow.'

‘Yes, I'm not so much interested in his charms as in the fact that he was in Hong Kong recently. Precisely what is Josh Darrell's connection with...' Caldicott broke off with a gasp of pain and glared at Charters.