Simon Brett - Mrs. Pargeter's pound of flesh

The name had an instant effect. ‘That product was never marketed by this company.’

‘Ah, but it was test — marketed,’ said Mrs Pargeter, supremely confident in Ellie Fenchurch’s research. ‘In the Tyne Tees area. Seven years ago, just after the success of the first Mind Over Fatty Matter book, when you were beginning to explore other areas of merchandizing.’

‘As I say, the Face Polish campaign was stopped before the product reached the shops.’

‘Yes, and why was it stopped?’ Mrs Pargeter was beginning to enjoy her role as prosecuting counsel. ‘Was it because the actual properties of the product did not live up to the claims that were made for it?’

‘That was part of the reason.’

‘So you mean it didn’t’ — Mrs Pargeter consulted her report — ‘“smooth away wrinkles and restore facial skin to teenage tautness”.’

‘No. The claims of the manufacturer who wished me to franchise his product proved to be exaggerated,’ Sue Fisher replied, shifting the blame away from her own company.

‘And I dare say another reason for suppressing Face Polish,’ Mrs Pargeter went on coolly, ‘was the fact that it brought out the housewives of the Tyne Tees area on whom it was tested… in a rather nasty rash.’

‘Well-’

‘“Dry, flaking skin… painful cracking… irritation and bleeding…”,’ she read on relentlessly.

‘Yes, obviously that was one of the reasons why we pulled the product. That’s what testing’s for,’ said Sue Fisher defensively. ‘It’s to see whether there are any unexpected side-effects of a product, and when you do find any… well then, obviously, you stop developing that product.’

‘I see,’ Ellie Fenchurch interposed. ‘So Face Polish wasn’t actually one of the products you tested yourself?’

‘Well, I-’

‘Or did you suffer from “dry, flaking skin… painful cracking” and-’

‘No, no, of course I didn’t! I’m only involved in the final stages of testing. Once a product has been tried on a series of-’

‘Guinea pigs…?’ suggested Mrs Pargeter.

‘No — volunteers.’

‘These’d be human volunteers, would they?’

‘Of course they would. It’s one of the proud tenets of the Mind Over Fatty Matter organization,’ Sue Fisher went on devoutly, ‘that none of our products have been tested on animals.’

‘I see. You’d rather have humans erupting in flaking skin and that sort of-’

‘No, no. This is perfectly normal practice. Once a product’s been tested on volunteers and proved to have no adverse side-effects, then-’

‘But, if it does have adverse side-effects, what happens to the volunteers?’

‘Well, I don’t know, do I!’ Sue Fisher’s temper was now extremely short. ‘They get paid for their trouble. They agree to take the tests, after all. That’s what being a volunteer means.’

‘Yes. So there are quite a lot of products your company tests that you haven’t actually tried out yourself?’

‘At the early stages, yes, of course there are. But everything that actually makes it into our catalogue or on to the shelves in the shops, I have tried personally.’

‘What about the Mind Over Fatty Matter Slimbic…?’ hazarded Mrs Pargeter.

This product name also stopped Sue Fisher in her tracks. She was distinctly flustered as she retorted, ‘That never reached the shops.’

‘Oh, but it did.’ Mrs Pargeter consulted more of Ellie Fenchurch’s invaluable research. ‘Five years ago. The Slimbic was on sale in the Mind Over Fatty Matter shop in Covent Garden. It had no adverse effect on any of the women who bought the product… except for the ones who suffered from asthma. They had very serious side-effects from eating Slimbics, didn’t they? Particularly the one who was unfortunate enough to be pregnant. She-’

‘The product was withdrawn immediately those side-effects were known. And the women who suffered were generously compensated.’

‘Oh yes,’ Ellie Fenchurch agreed. ‘The trouble is that someone who’s been bought off once is often very ready to be bought off again. Through your lawyers, you “compensated” the women to buy their silence. It only required another payment from my paper for them to end that silence.’

Sue Fisher was furious. ‘Chequebook journalism is one of the most contemptible-!’

‘I don’t think it’s any worse than chequebook justice,’ the journalist countered evenly.

Mrs Pargeter picked up the attack. ‘The funny thing about it is, though’ — she turned a page of her research — ‘that you’ve been a long-time asthma-sufferer yourself… haven’t you, Sue?’ There was no reply. ‘And yet you didn’t suffer any ill-effects from eating Slimbics…’

Ellie Fenchurch came in to spell out the point. ‘Which would suggest that you never actually tried one.’ Still silence. ‘Which rather makes nonsense of your claim to have personally tested all Mind Over Fatty Matter products which reach the High Street.’

Sue Fisher was broken. ‘What is all this? What do you want?’ she asked sullenly.

‘Very simple,’ Ellie replied, crisply efficient. ‘You were at Brotherton Hall earlier this week…’

‘Yes.’

‘During which time,’ Mrs Pargeter picked up the interrogation, ‘you booked in for a Dead Sea Mud Bath on Wednesday morning…’

‘Yes.’

‘Was that with a view to endorsing the treatment as a Mind Over Fatty Matter product?’

‘There was some thought we might introduce a skin treatment based on the baths, yes.’

‘Which was why you were testing them out?’

‘Yes. Well, that is to say… that’s why they were tested out.’

‘So you’re saying you didn’t actually test out the bath yourself?’

‘No,’ Sue Fisher conceded.

‘You weren’t in the Brotherton Hall Dead Sea Bath unit last Thursday morning?’

‘No, I wasn’t. One of my staff tested it out for me.’

In her diminished state, Sue Fisher had even forgotten to call her substitute a ‘co-worker’.

‘What do you reckon then, Ellie?’ asked Mrs Pargeter, as Gary’s limousine swept them elegantly towards the good lunch they had promised themselves as a reward for their morning’s work.

‘I reckon we’ve got her over a barrel,’ the journalist replied, with the assurance that came from having had many of the rich and famous over barrels. ‘You’re sure you found out everything you needed?’

‘For the time being, yes. Sue Fisher definitely wasn’t one of the people who overheard me fixing to meet Lindy Galton.’

‘No, and her alibi for the time of the murder sounded pretty solid too.’

Mrs Pargeter had had no hesitation about bringing Ellie Fenchurch up to date with all her suspicions. The journalist’s investigative skills might be needed further; and, needless to say, with someone trained by the late Mr Pargeter, worries about discretion were entirely inappropriate.

‘Yes. I’ll get Truffler to confirm that alibi, but I think she’s in the clear.’

‘On the murder itself. I still think there could be something else suspicious about her involvement with Brotherton Hall…’

‘Why?’

‘Sue Fisher never does anything for nothing. Why was she there in the first place?’

‘To make her latest video.’

‘Yes, but there are any number of other health spas all over the country where she could have done that. I’m sure she had some reason for choosing Brotherton Hall.’

Recollection of a conversation overheard from Ankle-Deep Arkwright’s office came to Mrs Pargeter. ‘I did hear her talking to Ank about some kind of testing that he might be doing for her. Or at least she didn’t like the word “testing” — she preferred to have it called “trying out”.’