The Scandal at 23 Mount Street (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 9) (3 page)

‘Well, now,’ he said. ‘I thought that might bring you round.’

‘You haven’t brought me round at all. I want you to leave, and I want to know how much it will cost me to get rid of you.’

His smile was so wide now that he was practically grinning from ear to ear. He came slowly towards her. Angela smelt the alcohol on him again and felt slightly sick.

‘Suppose you suggest a figure,’ he said.

For the next day or two Angela existed in a state of permanent nervousness and agitation. Davie’s visit had upset her greatly, but she had hoped that once she gave him some money he would leave her alone—or, better still, go straight back to America. To her dismay, however, he turned up again on Thursday and announced that he would be more than happy to give her a divorce as long as she signed an agreement to pay him a generous annual allowance for life. This she refused absolutely to do. He laughed, for he had not really expected her to accede to it, and said in that case perhaps he ought to come and live with her at the Mount Street flat for the time being, so as to make the money she had already given him last a little longer. There had been an unpleasant scene, but Angela got rid of him at last, and it was not until Friday that she noticed to her consternation that Marthe’s key, which she had left on the table as she departed, was no longer there. Angela called a locksmith as soon as she discovered the loss, and asked him to come and change the lock, but he was unable to come before Monday, and so she knew she would spend the weekend worrying that Davie might turn up and let himself in whenever he felt like it. He had refused to say how long he was planning to stay in London, but it was perfectly obvious that he meant to make a deliberate nuisance of himself while he was here, and she feared that now she had given him money he would keep on coming back for more and never leave her alone.

All this agitation was not helped by Angela’s worry that Edgar Valencourt might appear again and confirm Davie’s suspicions about them. She had heard nothing from Valencourt since Wednesday, and wondered whether he had gone back to Italy or wherever it was he lived at present. If that were so, it was probably for the best, although it was a pity they had not had the chance to finish their conversation before Davie had turned up. Had he really meant it when he said he was retiring? There had been reports in the newspaper in the past day or two about a daring robbery in which some valuable jewellery had been stolen from a private collection at a house in Kent. A servant had been knocked out and the thief or thieves had made off through a broken window. Angela’s heart had given a great thump when she read the story, but it did not sound like his way of doing things, and sure enough it soon emerged that the police believed the theft to be the work of a well-known and ruthless gang. Angela was relieved despite herself, for although she had always maintained carelessly that it was all the same to her whether Valencourt retired or not, since she would accept no responsibility for his moral character, that part of her which would forever have a weakness for him had always secretly hoped that he would give the thing up one day. Of course they had no future together, for even if he did decide to stop doing it, there was still the unavoidable fact that he was wanted by the police in several countries and would be in danger of arrest for the rest of his life. Nonetheless, she would have liked to hear more about what he intended to do with himself now.

By Saturday Angela had quite given up any hopes of seeing Valencourt again, so she was surprised when she returned from lunch with a friend to see a familiar figure standing in Mount Street, fifty yards or so away from her flat, apparently engaged in examining the window display of a picture-framing shop. She reached a decision and, glancing about, headed in his direction. She did not stop or turn her head when she reached him, but instead said as she passed:

‘I’m going to the Park. You can follow me in five minutes if you like.’

It was a grey day, but dry at least. Angela found a bench not far from the Serpentine, from where there would be a good view of anybody approaching, and sat down. Sure enough, in a few minutes he joined her and sat down at the other end of the bench. Angela glanced about again.

‘I thought you’d gone,’ she said.

‘You can’t get rid of me that easily,’ he replied. ‘I’m sorry about the other day.’

‘You weren’t to know. Nor was I, for that matter.’

‘Weren’t you expecting him, then?’

‘Goodness, no,’ she said. ‘I last saw him more than two years ago when I left New York. Rather stupidly, I thought he wouldn’t follow me over here. It seems I was wrong.’

‘You’re not divorced, then?’

She gave a rueful sigh.

‘Unfortunately not. I meant to do it—certainly ought to have done it, but somehow I never quite got around to it, and then I came back to England and he was a thousand miles away and so I thought it didn’t matter. The separation was agreed and I considered myself free. But don’t let’s talk about him—he’s not in the slightest bit important.’

‘Then why are you so nervous?’ said Valencourt.

‘Nervous? I’m not nervous.’

‘Yes you are. You’re all tense and worried-looking, and you keep glancing about as though you’re expecting someone to turn up.’

‘Do I?’ said Angela.

‘Yes. If I didn’t know better I’d say you were afraid.’

‘Nonsense. If I were afraid then I shouldn’t be here with you now,’ she said without thinking, then could have kicked herself.

‘Why?’ he said, suddenly alert.

‘Never mind. It doesn’t matter.’

‘Of course it does. He said something, didn’t he? About us, I mean.’

She did not reply directly, but instead said, ‘It was all empty threats, of course. It’s not as though there’s anything to find out.’

‘Isn’t there?’ he said softly, and she looked up and was caught by a sudden jolt of remembrance.

‘Not here—not in England,’ she said, although she was aware as she spoke of how feeble that sounded.

‘I suppose not,’ he said. He paused for a moment, then went on, ‘I didn’t come here to make things difficult for you, Angela. As a matter of fact, I came to say goodbye.’

‘Oh?’ said Angela. ‘Are you going away again?’

‘Yes, and for good this time. I dare say that will be something of a relief to you.’

‘But why? You said something about retiring—unless I misheard you. Is it to do with that?’

‘No, you didn’t mishear. I have decided to retire.’

‘But why?’ she said again.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘After I was shot I had a little time to think while I was recovering, and I started to realize that it’s not fun any more—I’m not quite sure why. Perhaps it’s just that I’m getting too old for all this sort of nonsense.’

‘
Was
it fun, once?’

‘Oh, terribly good fun to start with. You can’t imagine what a kick I got out of it. But I was a young man then, and I’d taken a few knocks that hurt me rather, and I felt the world owed me something. Very arrogant of me, I know, but there’s youth for you. I was dreadfully complacent and full of myself for a very long time. I’m starting to tire of it all now, though. I can’t go on doing it until I’m an old man. Sooner or later I won’t have the energy to run any more.’ He paused, then went on ruefully. ‘And much as I hate to admit it, I appear to be developing a rudimentary conscience in my old age.’

‘Dear me, how unfortunate for you,’ said Angela. ‘Where did that spring from?’

‘I rather think it all started last May,’ he said. ‘There’s a woman, you see,’

‘Is there?’ said Angela, raising her eyes to his.

‘Yes,’ he said, holding her gaze. ‘It’s all her fault. I met her in Italy and we got along rather well. She’s a much better person than I am, but she refuses to take on the job of reforming me.’

‘Does she? I’m not surprised. I don’t think it’s possible to reform someone. I think they have to reform themselves.’

‘That’s what she said, and I dare say she’s right. Still, she is acting as my temporary conscience at present—just until mine grows strong enough to shift for itself.’

She laughed.

‘Do you think it will?’ she said.

‘Who knows?’ he said.

They smiled, then she said quietly:

‘I’m glad.’

‘Thank you. I hoped you would be. Of course, that doesn’t alter the fact that I have done some rather dubious things in the past. It’s not as though I can just come out into the open and settle down in the country with a wife and children. I’m willing to experiment with honesty but I draw the line at giving myself up.’

‘Then what shall you do?’ said Angela. Now she noticed for the first time that he seemed on edge too. He did not glance about as frequently as she did, but there was a nervousness about him that she had never seen before.

‘I must leave,’ he said. ‘One unfortunate effect of this sort of life is that one mixes with people who have a tendency to resolve any little difficulty that may arise with violence. You saw it yourself in Italy. I’m afraid there’s a good chance that I may have—er—offended someone, so I think the best thing will be for me to make myself scarce.’

‘You’re in danger?’

‘It’s entirely possible,’ he admitted.

‘Then where will you go?’

‘I shall lie low for a month or two in France until the commotion dies down, then I shall go somewhere far away—perhaps South America. I believe they breed horses there. That’s what I always meant to do, before—other things intervened.’

‘South America? That’s a long way,’ said Angela.

‘It is, but I expect it’s pleasant enough. Naturally, I shall miss the old country, but it’s not as though I spend much time here these days anyway.’

‘I suppose not,’ said Angela. The remark brought Davie back into her mind and she glanced around again.

‘You’re still nervous,’ he said.

She shook herself.

‘I oughtn’t to be,’ she said. ‘Davie mentioned hiring a private detective, but of course they’re very expensive and he hasn’t that sort of money.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Valencourt. ‘I’ve had plenty of experience of avoiding people, as you may imagine. There’s no-one here you need concern yourself about.’

‘I hate all this,’ said Angela suddenly. ‘I mean, all this skulking about in parks as though I had something to feel guilty about.’

‘You have nothing to feel guilty about,’ he said. ‘We’re having a perfectly innocent conversation.’

‘That’s debatable,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t like anybody to overhear us.’

‘There’s nobody
to
overhear,’ he said. ‘Please don’t worry. I must say, though, this husband of yours sounds like rather an ass.’

‘He’s a tremendous ass,’ said Angela with some energy.

‘It’s a pity that being an ass isn’t grounds for divorce.’

She gave a small smile.

‘I believe it is, in the States,’ she said. ‘Although I don’t think the law puts it in quite those terms.’

They fell silent for a few moments, watching people as they passed to and fro through the Park.

‘I’m leaving in the morning,’ he said at last. ‘Will you come out with me tonight, Angela?’

‘I can’t,’ said Angela contritely. ‘I have to go to a charity ball. It’s been organized by some friends of mine and I agreed to go ages ago. They’ll never forgive me if I don’t turn up.’

‘That’s a pity,’ he said.

‘But you could come. They’ll be selling tickets at the door. You’ll have no trouble getting in, I’m certain of it.’

‘Should you like me to?’

‘Yes, very much,’ she said.

‘Will your husband be there? I don’t want to get you into trouble,’ he said.

‘No,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t know any of my friends and there’s no reason he should be there. It’s not his sort of thing, anyway.’

‘Isn’t he staying at the flat with you?’

‘No, of course not,’ said Angela. ‘He said something about staying at some club or other—Burkett’s, I think—with an old friend of his.’

‘Can I ask you to dance without anyone getting suspicious, do you suppose?’

‘I dare say. It’s easy enough to be inconspicuous in a crowd. One frequently ends up dancing with people one doesn’t know.’

‘Then I’ll come, and we can say goodbye tonight,’ he said.

She looked at her watch.

‘I’d better go,’ she said, and made to rise from the seat, but he had spotted something.

‘What’s that on your arm?’ he said.

She rearranged her sleeve hurriedly.

‘Nothing,’ she said.

Before she could stop him he took hold of her hand and pushed back her coat sleeve to reveal a row of ugly bruises, black and purple, on her forearm. He looked questioningly at her but she would not meet his eye.

‘Did he do this to you?’ he said.

She pushed the sleeve down again and set her jaw, but said nothing.

‘He did, didn’t he?’

‘He doesn’t know his own strength,’ she said carelessly. ‘And I’ve always bruised easily.’

They both knew she was lying. His face darkened and a look of anger passed across it.

‘Oh, Angela, I’m so terribly sorry,’ was all he said.

‘Don’t be,’ she said. ‘He won’t be here long. He’ll get tired of plaguing me and go back to America, and then I’ll divorce him and be rid of him at last.’

‘But what if he doesn’t?’

‘Then I’ll have to think of some other way of getting rid of him,’ she said.

‘Yes, but—’

‘Enough,’ she said. ‘Listen, we’ve agreed he’s an ass so let’s leave it at that. I don’t want to talk about him any more—as a matter of fact we’ve wasted far too much time in talking about him already. Now, I really must go as I have a lot to do. You will come this evening, won’t you?’

‘Try and stop me.’

‘Splendid,’ she said, and smiled suddenly. ‘Then I’ll see you tonight.’

And with that, she stood up and walked off briskly, leaving him sitting on the bench, gazing after her.

The White Rabbit Ball was a charity event that had been running for three or four years now, and was rapidly becoming a fixture on the social calendar of a certain section of London society. It had begun as a joke, after a promising young artist had spent six months producing an experimental sculpture of a gigantic white rabbit in papier mâché, which had proceeded to collapse under the weight of its own over-sized ears on the opening night of its first exhibition to the public. Fortunately, the artist in question had seen the funny side, and some bright soul had had the idea of turning it into a regular thing with music and dancing and a light supper. Each year at this time, therefore, the Duke of Wymington gave up his house and his ball-room at the behest of his wife, who was a great patron of the arts, and sat in his library, shuddering quietly, as hundreds of people flocked through his front door, shrieking, laughing, chipping the paint and ruining the carpets. Meanwhile, a white papier mâché rabbit, produced on the model of the original but filled with balloons, was placed as the grand decoration of honour at one end of the ball-room. At midnight a bell would sound, giving the signal for all the revellers (by now usually very drunk) to attack the rabbit with anything that came to hand—forks, knives, shoes and many other things besides—until it lay in smithereens and all the balloons were set free.