Gun Street Girl (9 page)

That was how the small hours went. The crowd moved round like a carousel. I met some other people whom I can hardly remember through the vodka fog. I spoke to Leee again, and Fiona, and several other people I don't remember.

Eventually I ended up in the bar with Catherine. We were both smashed and sat on a pair of bar stools with our knees touching and swapped sad stories. I remember at one point she was crying and I was pretty close. She went to the Ladies' to repair the damage and came back and told me she wanted to leave. She gave me the number of the car phone in the Rolls and I borrowed the telephone behind the bar and called up Vincent. I told him to meet us out front in fifteen minutes.

She made her goodbyes and we collected her coat and made for the door. I checked with Elizabeth and she told me she would get the company limo to run her home. I wished her good night and left. It was still muggy as hell outside and the city smelled like a used flannel.

I saw the Roller parked on Old Compton and Vincent flashed the headlights, indicated a left turn and pulled out to cross over into Dean Street. Catherine and I walked between two cars to meet him, but before he could turn, a dark-coloured old Marina or Avenger without lights screeched away from the kerb behind the Rolls, swung out round it and turned towards us. I dragged Catherine back and the old banger hit the car beside us and bounced up Dean Street in a flurry of sparks and the smell of burning rubber. Catherine dropped like a stone and I caught her round the waist.

Vincent pulled up in front of us, leaped out and opened the rear door. He helped me to get Catherine into the car and onto the back seat.

‘Is she all right?' he asked, with an edge of panic in his voice.

‘I think so. Get moving in the direction of a hospital and give me some light in here.'

He jumped back behind the wheel and hit the switch that gave me a reasonable light in the back. Catherine moaned and I felt around for torn clothing or any sign that she'd been hit by the car. It wasn't a bad job and I took my time.

She felt all right, more than all right, and by the time she opened her eyes I was sure she'd simply fainted.

‘Are you okay?' I asked.

‘You should know,' she said. ‘I haven't had an examination like that since the last time I went to my gynaecologist.'

‘You're okay.' I tapped on the dividing glass and told Vincent to forget the hospital and take us home.

I woke up the next morning alone in a strange bed. It wasn't so bad. It made a change from waking up alone in my own. I felt even more shitty than usual. I'd slept for three hours. At least things were looking up in that direction, I usually barely managed two.

I rolled onto my back. The sun was long up and the room was stifling. I wished I'd switched on the air-conditioning. I crawled out of bed and made for the bathroom. I won't tell you what I looked like. I washed and shaved and found all my clothes hanging neatly in the wardrobe. Thank you, Miranda, I thought and wondered if I'd have to pack them again pretty damn quick after the fiasco of the previous night. I dressed in blue jeans and a big, soft shirt and took a walk around the house to help my hangover. It was as quiet as a wet afternoon in Ongar. I took a flight of stairs down to the basement looking for some life and smelt bacon and coffee and followed my nose and found the kitchen. Miranda was sitting at a huge scrubbed table eating breakfast with a big woman in kitchen whites and an elderly, steel-haired man in a black jacket and striped pants. They all stood up as I entered the kitchen. Miranda looked well fit in her black dress and a fresh apron.

‘Good morning,' she said.

‘Is it?' I replied.

‘As bad as that?'

‘Worse.'

‘Never mind.'

The two older parties were giving me a good blimp. ‘This is Mr Sharman,' said Miranda. ‘Mr Sharman, this is Mrs Bishop, our cook, and Mr Courtneidge, the butler.'

I forced a smile. ‘Good morning. I'm pleased to meet you. Don't stand up on my account, I only work here – for the moment, anyway.'

They both relaxed and nodded to me and sat back down.

‘Do you mind if I join you?' I asked. ‘I feel lousy.'

‘Of course,' said Courtneidge. ‘Please do.'

I sat down at the head of the table.

‘Would coffee help?' asked Miranda.

‘It might.'

‘New Guinea, filter fine, there's a fresh pot brewing.'

‘Sounds good.'

‘How was the party?' she asked.

‘The party was fine.'

‘Good, I'm so glad it went well.'

‘It had its moments.'

‘What time did you get back?'

‘Three thirty or so.'

‘You're up early.'

‘I don't sleep much these days.'

‘Why not?'

‘When I sleep I dream, and when I dream, I wake up.'

‘Always?'

‘So far.'

‘What do you dream about?'

‘Dead people mostly.'

‘Why?'

I looked up at her and right into her dark brown eyes. ‘Most of the people I've known are dead,' I said.

Her eyes never flinched. ‘That sounds very dramatic.'

‘It can be.'

Courtneidge and Mrs Bishop witnessed the exchange in silence.

‘Do you want some breakfast?' asked Mrs Bishop.

From the dramatic to the mundane in a moment. But then, that's life.

‘I'll pass on food for a while, but I'll take the coffee,' I said with as much good grace as I could muster.

Miranda brought me over a breakfast cup full of coffee. It smelt like heaven and tasted like paradise. ‘Thank you,' I said and sunk my face into the cup. It was strong, the way I like it, and dark, and sweet as a virgin's kiss. I wondered how many virgins I'd kissed lately, or ever.

When I'd drained the cup Miranda asked me how I felt.

‘Better, but still lousy – it's the drink.'

‘You shouldn't drink so much,' she said. ‘It's bad for you.'

‘Miss Elizabeth won't be down for a while. She left a message to be called at eight, and that she wants to see you the minute she's dressed,' said Courtneidge. ‘Miss Catherine will be late, I expect.'

‘I wouldn't blame her if she was!'

‘Are you sure about breakfast?' asked Mrs Bishop.

‘Quite sure, but I'll have another cup of coffee, if I may.'

‘Of course,' she replied with a smile.

I sat and drank more coffee and watched Miranda's bottom moving under her skirt as she went about her duties. I always watch women's bottoms, have done as long as I can remember. You can't tell anything about their personalities from them, but it sure is a great way to pass the time.

About seven thirty and three cups and ten thousand revolutions later I went for a walk. I needed some air before I got bollocked for nearly losing Catherine. Miranda showed me how to squeeze past the rubbish bins and up some steps and out into the mews at the back of the house. It was warm and sticky out, but the park smelt better in the morning air. I bought a paper and I was in the damn thing. On the gossip page was a picture of Catherine with some pop star halfway down the front of her dress. In the background was half my face neatly sliced by the edge of the photograph. It was hard to tell how I looked, all things considered. There were a few lines about the reception, but nothing about a photographer being assaulted. I guessed Barrington had come good.

I trashed the paper and walked into Hyde Park. There were lots of rich people riding horses and poor people kipping al fresco. In between, there were lots of middle-income people whose dogs were fouling the grass.

I walked on, dodging the shit, through the dapple of light and shade as the sun played hide and seek behind the leaves and branches.

I got back to the house around eight thirty. I sneaked in through the back way again and caught Miranda alone in the kitchen.

‘Is she up?' I asked.

‘Who?'

‘Elizabeth.'

‘Miss Elizabeth is in the breakfast room having –'

‘Breakfast,' I finished for her.

‘That's right.'

‘Is there any coffee in there?' I asked.

‘A big fresh pot.'

‘Great. I'll join her then. By the way, where is the breakfast room? I can't work out the geography of this place at all.'

‘Upstairs between the conservatory and the dining room.'

‘Jesus,' I said. ‘A room for everything and everything has a room.'

She looked at me oddly.

‘And thanks again for the livener this morning,' I said. ‘You make the best coffee I've tasted in a long while.'

She smiled and showed perfect teeth. I thought for a minute she was going to drop me a curtsy, but she didn't.

‘Thank you, sir,' she said. ‘But you've got Mrs Bishop to thank for that.'

‘I will and please call me Nick. I'll see you later.'

I left the kitchen and headed upstairs through still hallways until I found Elizabeth. She was seated alone at a long table covered with a thick white tablecloth in a sun-filled room, chasing a piece of toast around her plate. She was dressed in a black linen suit without stockings, and black pumps. Her hair hung loosely to her shoulders. She looked pale, but on her it didn't look bad.

‘Good morning,' I said.

‘I wanted to see you half an hour ago,' she said sharply.

‘I was out.'

‘Where?'

‘Taking a walk, reading about the party in the paper.' I summoned a smile. ‘I got my picture in the
Express
, how about that?'

‘By Christ, you're cheerful for someone who nearly blew it last night.'

‘Mind over matter,' I replied. ‘I feel lousy.'

‘So do I,' said Elizabeth.

I made no comment, just grabbed a fast cup of coffee and sat down opposite her.

‘Catherine, on the other hand, is blooming. She waited up for me last night full of tales of your derring-do. You made quite an impression.'

‘I'm pleased to hear it.'

‘So what happened?'

‘Give me a clue.'

‘Did someone try and kill Catherine?'

‘Your guess is as good as mine.'

‘Why didn't you do something?'

‘What could I do? I was too busy looking out for her.'

‘So I heard.'

‘What does that mean?'

‘Nothing.'

‘Good.'

‘Did you tell the police?'

‘Why bother? No one could see the number plate and I was hardly in a position to chase after them.'

‘The law might be able to do something,' she said.

‘And they might not. They'd say that the driver didn't stop because he or she might have been on the piss or had no insurance or was so stoned that he or she didn't even notice.'

‘It was a hell of a thing not to notice,' Elizabeth retorted.

‘It happens.'

‘But what do you think?' she insisted.

‘I think that Catherine put the idea of hiring me into your head because she says she's been on the receiving end of a series of telephone calls threatening to kill her unless she comes across with some cash.'

‘What?' she said in a high-pitched voice and her hands flew to her mouth. She cleared her throat and repeated the question in a lower tone of voice.

‘You heard,' I said.

‘When did she tell you that?'

‘Last night, over dinner.'

‘She's never told me.'

‘She didn't have to. You knew something was up.'

‘Yes, I did, didn't I? But why didn't she tell me herself, straight out?'

‘I have no idea.'

‘But who would want to kill her?'

I shrugged. ‘Who knows? Maybe she owes money to someone, and doesn't want to admit it. Has she got any money of her own?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Come on, Miss Pike,' I said. ‘Don't go coy on me. You've already told me you've been through your father's financial records. Did he give her a lot of money as an allowance or whatever you call it?'

‘Yes, and of course there's the house he bought her.'

‘Who has the deeds?'

‘Catherine.'

‘But you don't know if she has any money left?'

‘No. We're close, but I've never thought to ask. Anyway, who could she owe money to?'

‘Anyone, although I rather doubt it's her hat maker. Her coke dealer maybe, or her bookie, if she's into that. Or a rough boy friend looking for an easy few quid. I gather she's had a few of those. The question is, who would she owe enough money to for them to threaten her that heavily? Or maybe she doesn't owe anyone any money and it's something else.'

‘Like what?'

I shrugged again. ‘Perhaps we'd better ask her.'

‘Do you want me to?'

I thought about it for a moment. ‘No,' I said. ‘She might not tell you the truth. Mind you, she might not tell me the truth either. You realise this changes the nature of the job.'

‘Does that worry you?' Elizabeth asked.

‘I might collect the next motor aimed at your sister, and, yes, that does worry me.'

‘I'll double your fee.'

I had to smile. ‘It's not the money that worries me, it's if I want to put my life on the line.'

‘And do you?'

‘I promised her I would protect her last night, and I keep my promises.'

‘Thank you, Mr Sharman.'

‘You can call me Nick if you want.'

She blushed. ‘Thank you, but only when we're alone,' she said. People are weird.

‘Sure,' I said.

‘I don't want you to leave her side.'

‘Listen, Miss Pike – '

‘Elizabeth.'

‘When we're alone.'

She nodded.

‘Elizabeth,' I went on. ‘Catherine is kind of independent. She had to be, with her upbringing, or lack of it. She told me a bit about that last night too,' I said before she could interrupt me. ‘She's scared, but “never leave her side”, I doubt that. I'll do my best, but that's the most I can promise.'