R Raichev - Assassins at Ospreys

Antonia opened her bag and took out her lipstick, but in the process her diary fell out. She picked it up, not notic-ing the slip of paper that dislodged itself from between the book’s pages and fluttered down to the floor.

Having painted her lips, Beatrice led the way into the sitting room. Her arm was linked through Antonia’s. ‘What’s your favourite scent?’ she asked.

Antonia said she didn’t have a favourite scent. It struck her that she probably gave the impression of being rather puritanical. She needed to loosen up. Hugh was bound to start thinking her a nuisance sooner or later.

‘Mine is Ce Soir Je T’Aime. My life is incomplete with-out it,’ Beatrice said. She then promised to send Antonia a bottle of Ce Soir Je T’Aime for Christmas.

Beatrice’s hair had the sheen of Mycenaean gold; she wore preposterously high heels, a rather chic black cocktail dress and a heavy ornate necklace that didn’t really seem to go with the rest of her. (Had she dressed like that to impress Hugh?) On close inspection the necklace turned out to be made of miniature Taj Mahals. Payne had also taken note of the Taj Mahal necklace – he thought it an impossibly kitsch-y artifact – an affront to good taste.

‘Len had it specially made for me when we got engaged. He drew the design himself. They’d never had to make anything like it before,’ Beatrice explained. ‘The Taj Mahal was built by some Indian emperor for his beloved wife, wasn’t it? Len’s such a silly romantic. He paid a fortune for it. I don’t wear it often. To tell you the truth,’ Beatrice lowered her voice, ‘I don’t care much for it, but I put it on for Len’s sake. So that when he comes back, he will see that I am wearing his necklace and then he will forgive me. I am an idiot, I know!’

A novel by Francoise Sagan, A Certain Smile, lay on the coffee table beside an open, rather depleted, box of marrons glaces and a half-full glass of Tia Maria. Beatrice explained she had been trying to comfort herself and urged them to help themselves to marrons – or would they prefer drinks? ‘Do sit down, please!’ She then went into the kitchen and came back several moments later holding before her a tray loaded with cheese straws, smoked almonds and black Kalamata olives.

Only Beatrice and Major Payne had drinks. She stuck to brandy, which she drank out of an enormous globular glass, he had a whisky and soda. She saw him hold his pipe and insisted that he smoke it. She adored the smell of pipe tobacco. Payne told her, in serio-comical tones, how Antonia had banned him from smoking in their kitchen and Beatrice gasped in mock-horror – ‘No.’

Something like an easy intimacy was developing between them. Antonia didn’t like it at all. Beatrice leant towards Payne. ‘I don’t suppose you liked the drumbeats? It isn’t everybody’s cup of tea, I know. As a matter of fact that’s the authentic sound of a North African courtship ceremony. Honestly. It was Len’s idea.’ Beatrice’s nerves gave every appearance of having steadied themselves. ‘You’d never believe this, but Len serenaded me with it.’

Payne was surprised. He’d have thought that something on the lines of ‘Song at Twilight’ would be more Colville’s style. Or ‘Fools Rush In’, he thought unkindly as he watched Beatrice totter across the room on her high heels. Mistaking his look for one of sensual admiration, Antonia said in a voice that sounded over-loud, ‘No news of Ingrid’s whereabouts then? Since you reported her disappearance to the police?’

‘No. No. Nothing… It was Len who reported it, actu-ally. He has a friend at Scotland Yard. Arthur – Something-or-other?’ Beatrice looked at Payne as though she expected him to know the man’s surname. ‘Len’s already told Arthur about Ingrid, you see,’ she went on. ‘Oh, the police were awful! I was right not to want them told about Ingrid. That was the reason why Len got so very angry with me. The idiotic questions they asked! Was I sure it wasn’t me who’d suggested it to Ingrid to dress up as me, as a sort of lark? Hadn’t it really been my idea that she visit Ralph pretending to be me?’

‘It wasn’t your idea, was it?’ Antonia said with a smile. Beatrice stared at her. ‘Shall I tell you something, but you must promise not to breathe a word?’

‘Cross my heart and hope to die,’ Payne said in solemn tones and he gave the Boy Scout salute.

‘Well, you see, I did suggest that Ingrid dress up as me once, but that was aeons ago,’ Beatrice said. ‘I thought it might cheer her up. It did make her smile! I helped her with the make-up and everything. I did think it funny. Of course I never thought she’d want to do it again, if you know what I mean?’

‘Did she look like you?’ Payne asked.

‘She did! It was uncanny. Oh, the police were ghastly. They gave me the third degree. All those questions! Hadn’t I had concerns about Ingrid’s state of mind before? Why had I failed to seek medical assistance? What medication had Ingrid been on? I was terribly vague about it and it made them suspicious. It doesn’t take much to make the police suspicious! I couldn’t find any of Ingrid’s prescriptions – all her pills seemed to have vanished from her room. She’s probably thrown them away, wretched thing – she never liked the idea of being considered “loopy”. Oh my God.’ She clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Did you notice? I’m already talking about her in the past tense! I don’t really believe that she is dead. I honestly don’t, but somewhere, at the back of my mind I must be thinking it. Isn’t that awful of me?’

‘Did you see her on the morning she disappeared? Two days ago, was it? That was what the paper said.’ Payne relit his pipe. ‘26th November?’

‘Yes. No, I didn’t see her, but she -’ Beatrice broke off. ‘All right, I’ll tell you. I didn’t tell Len. I lied to Len, and I lied to the police, but I will tell you. You see, she phoned me – it was the morning of 26th November, that’s correct. Sometime after nine. Len and I were having brekkers.’

‘Ingrid phoned you? Where from? Where was she?’ Antonia asked.

‘She said she was in Oxford – but she was in her room upstairs, so she must have rung me on her mobile! I didn’t know at the time she was in her room. How do I know she was in her room? Well, apparently, she came down just a few minutes after I’d left. Len told me – he saw her! It never occurred to me to doubt her when she said she was in Oxford – why should I? I suppose I am terribly naive. I told you she went out an awful lot. I was so happy when she said she wanted to see me.’

‘Is that what she told you? That she wanted to see you?’ ‘Yes, she said she wanted to talk to me. Urgently. I was so glad. You see, I’d been trying to talk to her for the last month or so, ever since she stopped talking to me – but she wouldn’t. And there she was now, asking me to meet her at a cafe in Oxford – a place called the Way to Heaven, not far from the Ashmolean Museum. She explained how to find it.’

‘You went?’

‘I did.’

‘Why didn’t you tell Colville?’ Payne asked.

‘Because, Hugh, I knew he’d fuss. He is a terrible fusspot. He’d have been scared Ingrid might do something to me. Len’s too protective. Could be tedious about it. Don’t you see? He’d have tried to stop me. So I lied to him. I told him I was going to the hairdresser’s. That’s why we had the row today, you see. He is convinced I’d gone to meet a man.’ Beatrice looked at Payne fixedly, then rolled up her eyes. ‘It’s perfectly awful. You would never believe it, but Len is jealous.’

‘Really?’ Antonia said. Surprise, surprise, she thought.

‘Yes. I had no idea. Frightfully jealous.’ Beatrice seemed pleased with her discovery. ‘I was already cross with him, you see – really cross, for spilling the beans about Ingrid. I mean he told the police everything – the whole horror story, about Ralph and the accident and the dead baby and Ingrid coming to the hospital – I mean, everything – from start to finish. Oh, he looked terrible – bug-eyed and red and glistening. I thought he’d have a heart attack. I had no idea he hated her so much. He waved his arms in the air and raved and ranted like – like -’