The Killing of Olga Klimt (22 page)

‘So good of you to agree to meet me. I don’t know what I’d have done if you’d said no. It’s an impossibly difficult situation, so I shall rely on your wisdom and discretion. But you must tell me something first.’ Lady Collingwood lowered her voice. ‘In reference to poor Joan – what’s the latest news?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know anything,’ Antonia said apologetically. ‘We are not in touch with the police.’

‘You aren’t?’

‘No.’

Antonia noticed that there were little whitish crystals sticking to one of Lady Collingwood’s lapels. Sugar? Had Lady Collingwood been eating cake?

‘How perfectly extraordinary. I always imagined that you and Hugh had some very special contacts at Scotland Yard. I’d very much like to think the police are not as stupid and backward as most of us assume. We mustn’t think poorly of the police, must we? I can’t help thinking the killer is some maniac – and it’s
got
to be a man. What do you think, Antonia? It’s almost invariably a man, isn’t it? Especially when the victim is a young woman.’

‘That’s what statistics tell us – but not invariably.’ Antonia couldn’t bring herself to address Lady Collingwood as ‘Deirdre’, though she had been urged to do so.

‘There were no signs of – interference – of bruising? How terribly peculiar. You mean the killer could be a
woman
? How very interesting. Sorry – the little waitress has been trying to catch my eye. I hate making people wait, don’t you? What will you have?’

‘An espresso.’

‘I will have a cup of China tea. I can’t face anything else. Plain gunpowder, please.’ Lady Collingwood leant back. ‘You don’t suppose the foreign girl who lives at the house may have done it after all? It occurs to me that she was probably brought up with a completely different set of values. I believe the slaughter of seals is a common practice in her part of Europe, isn’t it?’

‘Is it?’

‘I admit I know next to nothing about her, nothing at all, only that her name is Olga and that she is “breathtakingly beautiful”. That’s what Charlie says. He’s quite taken with her, poor darling. Is Olga “breathtakingly beautiful”?’

‘She is beautiful, yes.’

‘Not one of those primped-and-preened-Park-Avenue-princess types, is she? That look is so irredeemably
tacky
.’

‘No, not at all. Olga is a natural beauty. She is sweet and charming as well.’

‘Did Hugh think so too? I am so pleased. I wasn’t at all sure. All love-struck young men tend to idealise the object of their affection. Charlie is terribly young and impressionable.’ Lady Collingwood gave a wistful smile.

‘Joan Selwyn was engaged to be married to him, wasn’t she?’

‘Only for a very short while. Charlie broke off the engagement. I never managed to make up my mind about Joan. She was awfully reserved. She was amiable enough, but there was never any question of our becoming “bosom friends”. She was fearsomely efficient. I must admit I found her a little intimidating – even after she dyed her hair blonde. She was Rupert’s secretary for a while. I had no idea then that – that –’ Lady Collingwood broke off. She bit her lip.

‘Yes?’

‘As I told you on the phone, Antonia, I am anxious to talk to you about something that happened, but I can’t. I’m finding it terribly difficult to come to the point. I am a coward.’
Lady Collingwood shook her head. She produced a slim silver cigarette case. ‘I don’t think I will be allowed to smoke here, will I? Actually, I don’t feel like smoking.’ She put the cigarette case back into her bag. ‘What I really feel like doing is bursting into tears.’

‘Is it so awful?’ Antonia believed she could guess where this was heading – though would Lady Collingwood have made such a song and dance about a mere affair between her husband and his secretary? There was clearly more to it.

‘Is it so awful?’ Lady Collingwood echoed. ‘It is, yes. It’s perfectly hideous. No question about it. Unless I am
entirely wrong
. Well, you see – it is like this – No, I can’t! Sorry but I can’t.’ Her voice shook. ‘I need to calm down first … Oh dear, do people still read Wodehouse? So passé, wouldn’t you say?’ Lady Collingwood had pointed to the book someone was reading at a neighbouring table. ‘I’ve never been able to see the appeal of Wodehouse. Master of language he may be, but all that repetitive silliness! He never varied his plots, did he? Are you familiar with the Restoration dramatist Thomas Otway?’

‘Otway? No, not very. Didn’t he write
The Orphan
?’

‘Yes. It is also known as
The Unhappy Marriage
. It was Charlie’s valet who introduced me to him. Such a clever man. Thomas Otway wrote what became known as “she-tragedies” – plays about virtuous and afflicted heroines. And why am I telling you this? It’s because at this very moment I see myself as one of those virtuous and afflicted women.’ Lady Collingwood gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘Do you consider yourself virtuous, Antonia?’

‘No, not particularly. Only moderately so.’

The waitress reappeared bearing a tray and placed it on their table.

Lady Collingwood closed her eyes and laid the tips of her fingers on the lids. ‘Thank you, Antonia. Thank you for not
losing patience with me. I’d have lost patience by now if I’d been confronted with me. I brought you here with the promise of a confession, didn’t I? Well, there is a confession coming. I don’t know why I keep putting it off. It’s not fair on you.’

‘Is it so awful?’ Antonia said again.

‘I do wish I had more courage,’ Lady Collingwood whispered. She opened her eyes. ‘You see, I want to believe Joan was killed by a maniac or even by Olga because the alternative is too horrible for words. I hope you will tell me I am imagining things. I can see that you are a sensible person. You’ve got your head screwed on. That’s how I imagined you to be. That’s why I wanted to see you. It’s such a personal thing. It’s about Rupert. I am extremely worried about Rupert. About his state of mind. You see, something happened and I don’t know what to make of it and, honestly, I am terrified.’

‘What happened?’

Lady Collingwood picked up her cup of tea and immediately put it down. Her hands, Antonia noticed, were shaking.

‘It happened last night. I woke up suddenly. I could hear Rupert talking in a very loud voice in his bedroom, which is next door to mine. At first I thought he was on the phone but then I realised he was talking in his sleep. He has done it before. He has problems sleeping. I don’t normally listen but this time I did listen. It was Joan’s name that caught my attention –’

‘You
are
a policeman, aren’t you? A plain-clothes detective?’

‘I told you I wasn’t.’

‘A secret policeman would never admit to being a policeman,’ Billy said.

‘I used to work for the Secret Service, but that was quite a while ago. Light years ago. I am here in a private capacity. I am a friend of the Collingwoods. It was Lord Collingwood who asked me to look into the matter,’ Payne improvised.

‘Lord Collingwood actually asked you to investigate Joan’s murder?’

‘No, not investigate. Good lord, no. I wouldn’t know where to begin!’ Payne laughed self-deprecatingly. ‘The police are already doing that. What Lord Collingwood wants me to do is – um – help clarify some points.’

‘What sort of points?’

‘You don’t have to answer any of my questions if you don’t feel like it.’

‘Oh very well.’ Billy sighed. ‘Ask away.’

‘When was the last time you saw Joan Selwyn?’

‘Three days ago, the day before she died. She popped in to say hallo. She didn’t stay long.’

The fair-haired young man sounded neutral but his eyes continued to be wary. How curious that all the young people in this affair should be blonde, Payne reflected idly. Even the victim – though she had owed her fairness to art rather than to nature.

‘How would you describe Miss Selwyn’s state of mind on that occasion?’

‘Her state of mind? Perfectly normal. Joan was normality personified.’

‘That wasn’t always the case,’ Payne said slowly. ‘I understand she acted in a very strange manner when her former boyfriend broke up with her.’

‘Did she? You do surprise me. I had no idea.’ Billy shook his head. ‘I must say I am astonished.’

‘Can you think of anything –
anything
– that she said or did the last time you saw her that was perhaps a little out of the ordinary?’

‘No, not really. She complained that one of her flatmates, can’t remember which one, tended to use up all the hot water.’ Billy frowned. ‘She was also a bit annoyed with Lord Collingwood. He had wanted her to help him with something. As Lord Collingwood’s friend, you probably know all about it.’

‘As a matter of fact I don’t.’

‘It was something to do with Eresby’s girlfriend, I think, that’s the chap Joan used to go out with – and some other person.’

Payne pricked up his ears. ‘It was to do with Olga?’

‘Is that her name?’

‘Yes … Miss Selwyn didn’t give you any idea as to what it might have been about?’

‘Um. No. Oh yes, it’s coming back. Some rigmarole about an acquaintance of Lord Collingwood’s – a highly respectable gentleman of advancing years, I think – who’d got into a spot of trouble with this girl – Olga? I am afraid I wasn’t listening … What’s this Olga – an escort or something?’

‘Didn’t Joan specify the nature of the trouble?’

‘She did say something. Um. The elderly gentleman had been to Olga’s house expecting favours, but she wasn’t forthcoming? Something like that. Oh, and he seemed to have left something behind, which he wanted back, badly. Apparently, he phoned Olga and asked for it but she said she would only give it back on certain conditions. I got the idea it was something compromising.’

‘What conditions?’

‘No idea. It all sounded incredibly tedious. Joan had agreed to assist Lord Collingwood in getting the thing from the house. But she was annoyed about it. She found the whole business rather distasteful, actually.’

‘How very curious. By “the house” you of course mean Philomel Cottage? That’s where Miss Selwyn was killed …’

There was a pause. Payne wondered whether he should believe this story or not. Lord Collingwood hadn’t said anything about it. But then why should Joan Selwyn make up a story like that? It didn’t quite fit in at all with the anonymous phone call she had received at Richoux’s either – or did it? She had told Lord Collingwood someone had asked her to go to Philomel Cottage. But she was already going to Philomel Cottage! There was something wrong. He believed someone was lying. He glanced across at Billy.

‘I got the idea this girl – Olga – was blackmailing the old fellow,’ Billy said.

‘I wouldn’t have said Olga was the blackmailing type.’

‘Do you
know
Olga?’ Billy’s eyes opened wide.

‘I have met her. The impression she made on me was almost entirely positive,’ Payne said firmly. He pointed to a mobile phone that lay on the coffee table. ‘That’s not your Blackberry, is it?’

‘No – how – how did you know?’

‘It’s got the initials “JS” on it.’

‘Has it? Where?’ Billy blinked. He looked down at the mobile phone. ‘Oh, are those letters? I thought that was part of the design – had no idea they were
letters
!’

‘What did you think they were?’

‘Two snakes, one standing on its head, the other preparing to strike! That’s what it looks like, doesn’t it? Can’t you see the snakes? Yes, it’s Joan’s Blackberry. I had no idea she’d had it personalised. I have had it ready to give to the police – or to Joan’s father.’

‘Has Joan’s father been in touch with you?’

‘No. I doubt whether Joan’s father is aware of my existence. I don’t think he and Joan were ever close.’

‘I see.’ Payne wondered as to the reason for the estrangement – could old Selwyn have been made aware of the fact that Joan was not his real daughter? Something stirred at the back of his mind. ‘How long have you had Joan’s phone?’

‘Um. I think she left it behind the day before she died. I meant to give it to her but, as it happened, I never had the chance.’

‘You said you were going to have dinner together. Weren’t you at all worried when she failed to turn up?’

‘I was. Of course I was.’ The chap sounds defensive, Payne decided. He saw Billy cast a glance at the door, as though expecting it to open at any moment. Billy didn’t appear to be particularly grief-stricken. ‘I sat and waited and then I rang her but there was no answer – it was about ten o’clock, I think.’

‘She couldn’t have answered as her mobile was here,’ Payne said.

‘Yes, quite. But I’d completely forgotten that she’d left it here!’

‘Unless she had a second phone?’

‘I don’t think so – not that she’d have been able to answer even if she’d had a second phone – I assume she was dead
by then – I mean, by ten?’ Billy swallowed. ‘When was she killed exactly?’

‘At about five-thirty,’ said Payne.

The door opened. It was the young man called Sieg Mortimer, to whom the elegant flat belonged. ‘Sorry to intrude but I was wondering whether Major Payne would like a cup of coffee? Or perhaps a drink? How about some whisky? As you are
not
a policeman, you can have a drink with impunity, can’t you?’

He must have been standing outside the sitting-room door, listening to their conversation.

‘Indeed I can. A whisky and soda would be very acceptable,’ Payne said amiably.

‘You can relax, Selkirk. Major Payne is not a real policeman. This proves it. The police don’t drink while performing their duties. Major Payne is what is known as an “independent agent”, isn’t that so, Major Payne?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Unless this is a ploy to put us at our ease, so that he can have his evil way with us. The thing to remember, Selkirk, is not to make any statements that would be considered unwelcome by learned counsel on either side … What will you have, Selkirk?’

‘Nothing, thanks, Mortimer. Nothing for me.’

It was Mortimer who had opened the front door to Major Payne, though he had then made himself scarce. Payne didn’t care for Mortimer’s sneering mouth and facetious manner. Mortimer was blonde too – like Billy, like Charlie, like Olga! How funny. Was that another coincidence – or could it be a conspiracy? Payne smiled at the thought and for a moment or two he gave full rein to his imagination.