The Killing of Olga Klimt (19 page)

‘I believe I sat dreaming of Gstaad.’

‘The whole afternoon?’

‘No, of course not. Don’t be silly. At some point I went out.’

‘Where did you go?’

‘I can’t remember. Are we playing Twenty Questions now? I think I went for a walk in Kensington Gardens. It was such a languorous, odorous kind of afternoon. I couldn’t get down to doing anything else.’

‘I told you I wouldn’t be able to go to Gstaad with you because Joan had already made other plans.’

‘Too late now, Selkirk. It’s already done.’

‘What’s done?’

‘The booking. I’ve already made a booking. We are going to Gstaad for Christmas. Caroline will be there. Also James Middleton and his set. I mean Princess Caroline of Monaco, of course. You said you wanted to meet James, didn’t you? I’ll introduce you. He may not come from the finest landed bloodstock, but he is highly intelligent, waspish,worldly, sophisticated, emotionally complex and extraordinarily good company. And that cake business of his is such a hoot. So refreshingly unconventional. Besides,’ Mortimer went on, ‘you can’t go anywhere with Joan as Joan is dead. Your mouth is open, Selkirk. Do shut it, please. You look like a goldfish.’

‘When did you make the booking?’

‘Why are you gazing at me with such peculiar intensity, Selkirk? You do look quite absurd.’ Mortimer laughed. ‘Remember what we agreed? If you really insist on knowing, I made the booking yesterday afternoon. Some time after you left. Satisfied?’

‘Yesterday afternoon? But you couldn’t have known then that – that –’ Billy broke off.

‘It’s only the shortest of news items – page four – no details – the police are clearly keeping their cards close to their chest at this early stage of the investigation.’ Major Payne pushed
The Times
to one side. It was the following morning and they were having breakfast. ‘I’ve no doubt our brains are much more advanced than theirs, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘No, I wouldn’t. “Pride cometh before destruction and haughty spirit before a fall,”’ Antonia quoted. She took a sip of coffee. ‘Have you fed Dupin?’ Dupin was the cat.

‘Of course I haven’t. I’ve been busy thinking about the case. Wait, I gave him a piece of fried bacon.’

‘You shouldn’t have! Hugh! Not
bacon
. Not
fried
.’

‘It won’t kill him. He seemed to like it, rather.’

‘That’s exactly it! He’ll get used to it and won’t eat any of the tinned Felix we’ve got him.’

‘You fear he may forget he is a cat?’ Payne poured himself some more coffee. ‘The really important question at the moment is – would we be able to get to the truth before they do? Are we capable of outwitting them? It is imperative that we do, you know.’

‘Who is “they”? Oh you mean the police. You make it sound as though this time it’s personal somehow.’

‘Well, in a way, it is.’ Payne gave a rueful smile. ‘Unprincipled use of first names is not something an officer and a gentleman of the old school should forget or forgive that easily.’

‘Don’t be an ass, Hugh.’

‘I am perfectly serious. This is war. It is imperative that we prove our superiority.’

Antonia buttered a piece of toast. ‘What was Joan Selwyn’s reason for wanting to go into Philomel Cottage? I keep thinking about it. She was killed after she’d unlocked the front door and was about to enter the house. That does look suspicious, doesn’t it?’

‘Perhaps she was intent on giving Olga a fright. Perhaps she was still keen on Charlie?’

‘We need to establish the exact nature of her feelings towards Olga Klimt since we have had some very mixed messages on the subject. Charlie believes she’d got over him and that she was seeing someone else. Lord Collingwood, on the other hand, is not convinced she’d got over Charlie … That correct?’

‘Yes.’ Payne helped himself to a boiled egg and cracked it with his teaspoon.

‘How reliable a source is Lord Collingwood?’

‘Not particularly reliable. He is something of a windbag. He is a dangerous reactionary. Some of his ideas have a whiff of the crackpot about them. He wrote a long poem once called “A Soul-bartering Subaltern”.’

‘But he was close to Joan Selwyn and he is of course married to Charlie’s mother … He may know things … Will he talk to you, do you think?’

‘I am sure he will. He thinks very highly of me. I served in the same regiment as his late brother. He told me things about his wife I didn’t really want to know. Deirdre Collingwood is an Aconite addict, apparently. I will ring him after breakfast, if you like.’

‘Yes, do.’

It was half-past-ten now. The September morning was sunny and so garishly gorgeous, it could be cut into pieces and rearranged as a jigsaw, Lady Collingwood thought.

She was sitting in her bed, propped up on pillows, a breakfast tray across her knees and a book beside her. She had her phone in her hand. She was speaking to her son while gazing out of the window, at the fiery red of the rowans and beeches in the garden and ardently wishing she could float away – float away in poetic appreciation …

‘Oh my poor darling, how perfectly horrid. And you knew all along? You actually stumbled over the body … But why didn’t you tell me last night? I see. No, I haven’t seen the paper yet. Rupert’s got it. He’s bound to see it, no matter how tiny it is, he reads the paper from cover to cover … We are not on speaking terms, I am afraid … We had a scene last night … I am forlornly banished to my room, my choice … No, no … Helps me to have some semblance of normality … Yes … Yes … Well, melodrama is better than melanoma, as a very dear friend of mine once put it …’

Lady Collingwood took a sip of coffee.

‘How about lunch, Charlie? I could book a table at Harry’s Bar? No? Oh never mind. Some other time. I quite understand, darling. No, don’t worry. How is she? Such a marvellous name, I always thought … Is she? Poor thing. Olga speaks English, I trust? Everybody seems to nowadays … Poor Joan, yes. So much unfulfilled promise. I imagine Rupert will be distraught as he loved her dearly. She had a very special place in his heart, you see. More special than I ever thought possible … You’d never guess what I found … I would rather not talk about it now … I am not supposed to know … Sorry for speaking in riddles, darling but if Rupert realises that I know it may provide him with ammunition for further attacks … Shall we say I came across some rather
revealing papers? I’ll tell you all about it when I see you … Yes … Bye, darling.’

Deirdre put the phone down. She glanced at the book she had been reading. It was one of Antonia Darcy’s. She’d got it from the library the day before. She leant back and shut her eyes. Well, that was that. Joan Selwyn was dead and Rupert was in the process of discovering that he had wasted time, paper and ink writing that new will …

She heard the opening and closing of a door. Rather, the slamming. She heard something that sounded like a sob followed by ‘Oh God!’ Clearly Rupert knew. It had been in the paper. She glanced at the little blue enamel clock on her bedside table: quarter-to-eleven.

Rupert had left his room. She wondered if he was wearing a black tie.

Lord Collingwood was more than willing to see Major Payne. As a matter of fact he’d been about to give him a tinkle, he said. Payne was just the fellow to whom Lord Collingwood wished to speak. He said the matter required urgent attention. Could they meet at the Military Club later in the morning, at eleven-thirty, say?

‘Look here, Payne. This is a wretched business. Absolutely wretched.’

Lord Collingwood was immaculately dressed in a grey suit and a double-breasted waistcoat in port-wine red. He wore a black tie and in his buttonhole he sported a black orchid – from his conservatory, the ‘new crop’, he explained.

Major Payne said that the murder of a young woman was always particularly appalling.

‘The blasted paper said “Fulham” but gave no details. It’s an outrage. Few things annoy me more than ellipsis. Do they expect readers to fill in the blanks for themselves? Sorry, Payne, but I believe that chap’s trying to eavesdrop on us. It’s the same chap we had last time, I think. The slow chap – remember? Damned impertinence, don’t you think?’

‘I think he wants to know if we want to order something.’

‘Of course we want to order something. We want coffee, don’t we? What else could we possibly want at this time of day?
Artichauts aux fines herbes
? Sauerkraut?’

‘A pot of coffee, please,’ Major Payne said to the waiter.

‘I wouldn’t say “please” if I were you, Payne. These chaps tend to take advantage of one’s good nature. You risk setting a dangerous precedent, you know.’ Lord Collingwood glanced round. ‘This place is going to the dogs. I have a good mind to resign. It’s been a foul morning, absolutely ghastly. Talk about the heavy and weary weight of an unintelligible world! I opened the
Telegraph
and got the shock of my life. Little Joanie Selwyn!’ His hand went up to his eyes. ‘Can’t believe I’ll never see her again! Brutally butchered! Don’t suppose you know any details?’

‘As a matter of fact I do,’ Payne said and he gave a summary of how he and Antonia had got involved in the Olga Klimt affair.

‘I see. So it was Deirdre who started the ball rolling and then one thing led to another, eh? And she was killed at Philomel Cottage! Good grief! Did you say your wife went with you? You seem to make a good team. I have heard some remarkable stories about your exploits. That Sphinx Island business last year! Took my breath away. Wish I had a wife like yours. And she writes! What a lucky fellow you are. Deirdre only manages to set my teeth on edge. She generates such tension. I have now decided to stop talking to Deirdre altogether.’ Lord Collingwood mimed zipping his lips. ‘Ah, here comes our
coffee. Jolly good. The best coffee in London, at least that’s how it used to be.’

‘Still is, I believe,’ Payne said.

‘Thank you, my good man,’ Lord Collingwood said to the waiter.

‘I’d like to ask you a question or two if I may, Collingwood … Or do you want to go first?’

‘No, no, you first. Be my guest.’ Lord Collingwood dropped a sugar lump in his coffee and stirred it with the silver spoon. ‘Fire away. It’s probably about Joanie, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. When did you see her last?’

‘Yesterday morning. I’d arranged to meet her at a place in Piccadilly. Richoux’s, some such name. Pleasant enough place but not enough leg room. I had scrambled eggs on toast.’

‘What did you talk about?’

‘Nothing of any particular interest. Fool of a friend of mine wanted me to do something for him. Not exactly a
friend
, rather a chap who’d done me a favour and expected me to do likewise. I decided Joanie could be of assistance. She was terribly efficient, you know. Don’t think she was wild about the idea but said she’d do it.’ Lord Collingwood sighed. ‘Then I told her that having it out with the Lithuanian houri couldn’t possibly be expected to lead to anything constructive. She told me not to worry. She said that was old hat. I was behind the times. She confirmed that she’d got over Charlie, which was a relief. There was a new man in her life now, name of Selkirk, and she was looking forward to starting a new life.’

‘D’you think she was telling the truth?’

‘Yes. I am sure she meant it.’ Collingwood nodded. ‘I congratulated her on her good sense. But then something very odd happened. As a matter of fact that’s one of the things I wanted to see you about.’

‘What happened?’

‘Her mobile phone rang and she answered it. I saw her expression change. She said, “Speaking. Who is this? You mean today? At Philomel Cottage? Some time after five?” Those were her exact words. It was a very brief exchange. Before I knew it, it was over. Strange, isn’t it, Payne? I knew you’d be interested!’

‘I most certainly am,’ Payne said slowly. ‘Someone asked Joan to go to Philomel Cottage?’

‘Yes! She was told that she would learn something to her advantage. That’s all she was told and then the caller rang off. I must admit I didn’t like the sound of it at all and it seems I was right to feel uneasy! Dammit, Payne, Philomel Cottage was where Joanie was killed, wasn’t it, that’s what you said?’

‘Yes. It’s also the place where Olga Klimt lives.’

‘Precisely, Payne.
Precisely
. Where Olga Klimt lives!’

‘But she didn’t think it was Olga?’

‘She said she didn’t recognise the voice. She couldn’t even tell if the voice was male or female. It might have been female. I said it would be madness to go. I told her it looked like a trap to me.’

‘You thought it was a trap?’

‘My exact words.’ Lord Collingwood nodded. ‘And it seems I was right! She said, how very peculiar, I wonder who that was. Or words to that effect. I asked her to promise me she wouldn’t go. Well, she did promise and then we talked about other things but I was uneasy. I didn’t like the way she looked. Pensive. Distracted. Soon after that we said goodbye … But I remained uneasy. I was worried …’

‘You feared she was going to go?’

‘Yes. It was the way her eyelids had fluttered. And she’d avoided looking at me directly. The more I thought about it, the more anxious I became. I didn’t know what to do. I had the idea of going to Philomel Cottage, of following her to her
assignation, so to speak, to see what it was all about. I thought I’d have a stab at unveiling the mystery of the strange phone call, as your wife might put it. I suspected Olga Klimt might be behind it – or that villain, Bedaux – who else is there? In fact I thought the two were acting in cahoots. I have a special reason for suspecting Bedaux. I’ll tell you about it in a second. I feared for Joan’s safety but I was also – well, curious.’

‘Did you go?’

‘No, I didn’t. And that’s something I will regret to the end of my days.’ Lord Collingwood shook his head. ‘An incident took place early in the afternoon and that put me in a bad mood. Altercation with a cab driver. Most impertinent fellow. I am no good in enclosed spaces. I lost my temper. I’d forgotten to take my balancing pill, you see – it’s some damned pills I’ve got to take. Got cross with the driver. He said something that annoyed me, you see. I am afraid I flew into a rage. I banged on the glass partition with my umbrella and it seems I cracked it. Anyhow, won’t bore you with it. The long and the short of it is that I spent most of the afternoon in Green Park, sitting in a deckchair, trying to read this new book on orchids I bought at Hatchards. It was a jolly warm afternoon.’